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FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY  HIM  TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Sc3 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/laterlyricOOhowe 


• 


$w "t/z 

SEP  21 1933 


Later  Lyrics 


BY 


Julia  Ward  Howe. 


BOSTON: 

J.    E.    TILTON    &    COMPANY. 

1866. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

J.  E.   TIETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped  by  C.  J.  Peters  &  Son,  No.  13,  Washington  Street. 


Press  of  Geo.  C.  Rand  &  Avery,  No.  3,  Cornhill. 


CONTENTS 


Poems  of  the  War. 

PAOB 

OUB    COUNTRY 9 

The  First  Martyr 12 

April  19 15 

Oub  Orders is 

Kequital 20 

TnE  Question 22 

The  Flag 21 

Harvard  Student's  Song 29 

One  and  Many 31 

Left  Behind 32 

Hymn  fob  a  Spring  Festival,  May  27,  1862        ...  33 

The  Jewelleh's  Shop  in  War-Time 36 

The  Battle-Eucharist 39 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic 41 

Lyrics  of  the  Street. 

The  Telegrams 45 

The  Wedding 49 

The  Funeral 52 

The  Charitable  Visitor 55 

The  Fine  Lady 59 

The  Darkened  House 62 

The  Old  Mans  Walk 64 

At  a  Corner 66 


IV  CONTENTS. 

The  Black  Coach *G7 

Play C9 

The  Lost  Jewel 71 

Outside  the  Party 73 

The  Soul-Hunter 76 

Street  Yarn 79 

Parables. 

I 85 

II 87 

III ' 89 

IV 93 

Her  Verses. — A  Lyrical  Romance. 

The  Legacy 99 

Blushes       .                                     101 

Wishes 103 

Fears 105 

Resolves 107 

Studies 109 

Latin 110 

A  Dream 113 

Waking 116 

The  Summons 117 

Waiting 119 

TnE  End 122 

Poems  of  Study  and  Experience. 

To  the  Critic 127 

Philosophy 129 

Kosmos 131 

First  Causes 133 

The  Christ 135 

The  CnuRcn 137 

The  Crucifix 140 


CONTENTS.  V 

Kenton's  Legacy 142 

To  One  who  lies  in  Florence 146 

The  Price  of  the  Divina  Commedia 149 

A  New  Sculptor 152 

A  Victim  of  Tiberius 156 

Caius  Caesar 160 

Claudius 16Q 

The  Vision  of  Paul 169 

The  Good  Gualderalda 172 

1830  AND   1853 175 

Perugia 181 

Of  Woman 186 

Amanda's  Inventory 190 

Lyke-Wake .192 

Bargains 193 

Rouge  Gagne 195 

The  Tea-Party 197 

Maid  and  Mistress 199 

The  Moderate  Man 203 

Warning 205 

Contrasts 206 

A  Vision  of  Palm  Sunday 208 

Jealousy 214 

Without  and  Withln 216 

The  Voice  of  the  Cataract 219 

The  Evening  Ride ,       ,       .221 

Night-Musings 223 

Summer  Night 226 

Eros  has  Warning 228 

Eros  Departs 231 

Simple  Tales.  — 1 235 

II 240 

The  Rose  in  the  Journal 242 

A  Dream  of  Distance 244 

Fame  and  Friendship 246 


VI  CONTENTS. 

A  Woman's  Prater 248 

The  Last  Bird 250 

Farewell  to  Havana 253 

A  Wild  Night 255 

Baby's  Shoes 258 

Mother's  Nonsense 261 

The  Babe's  Lesson 263 

"Servant  to  a  Wooden  Cradle" 266 

The  Unwelcome  Message 269 

My  Crucifix 272 

A  Winter  Thought         .  273 

Spring-Blossoms 274 

Remembrance 276 

Little  One 278 

Chopin 281 

Hamlet  at  the  Boston 283 

In  my  Valley 288 

Endeavor 291 

Meditation.  — 1 293 

II 296 

The  House  of  Rest 299 

A  Visit  to  C  H 303 

A  Leaf  from  the  Bryant  Chaplet 306 

Henry  Wilson's  Silver  Wedding 311 

The  New  Exodus 313 

Parricide 317 

Pardon 322 

Welcome 324 


POEMS  OF  THE  WAE. 


POEMS  OF  THE  WAR. 


OUR   COUNTRY. 

On  primal  rocks  she  wrote  her  name, 
Her  towers  were  reared  on  holy  graves, 
The  golden  seed  that  bore  her  came 
Swift-winged  with  prayer  o'er  ocean  waves. 

The  Forest  bowed  his  solemn  crest, 
And  open  flung  his  sylvan  doors  ; 
Meek  Rivers  led  the  appointed  Guest 
To  clasp  the  wide-embracing  shores  ; 


10  POEMS    OF    THE    WAR. 

Till,  fold  by  fold,  the  broidered  Land 
To  swell  her  virgin  vestments  grew, 
While  Sages,  strong  in  heart  and  hand, 
Her  virtue's  fiery  girdle  drew. 

O  Exile  of  the  wrath  of  Kings ! 
O  Pilgrim  Ark  of  Liberty  ! 
The  refuge  of  divinest  things, 
Their  record  must  abide  in  thee. 

First  in  the  glories  of  thy  front 
Let  the  crown  jewel  Truth  be  found  ; 
Thy  right  hand  fling  with  generous  wont 
Love's  happy  chain  to  furthest  bound. 

Let  Justice  with  the  faultless  scales 
Hold  fast  the  worship  of  thy  sons, 
Thy  commerce  spread  her  shining  sails 
Where  no  dark  tide  of  rapine  runs. 

So  link  thy  ways  to  those  of  God, 

So  follow  firm  the  heavenly  laws, 

That  stars  may  greet  thee,  warrior-browed. 

And  storm-sped  angels  hail  thy  cause. 


OUR    COUNTRY.  11 

O  Land,  the  measure  of  our  prayers, 
Hope  of  the  world,  in  grief  and  wrong ! 
Be  thine  the  blessing  of  the  years, 
The  gift  of  faith,  the  crown  of  song. 


12  POEMS    OF    THE    WAB. 


THE   FIRST   MARTYR. 

My  five-years'  darling,  on  my  knee, 
Chattered  and  toyed  and  laughed  with  me  : 
"  Now  tell  me,  mother  mine,"  quoth  she, 

"Where  you  went  i'  the  afternoon." 
"  Alas  !  my  pretty  little  life, 
I  went  to  see  a  sorrowing  wife, 

Who  will  be  widowed  soon." 

"  Now,  mother,  what  is  that?"  she  said, 
With  wondering  eyes  and  restless  head  : 
"  Will,  then,  her  husband  soon  be  dead? 

Tell  me,  why  must  he  die  ? 
Is  he  like  flowers  the  frost  doth  sear, 
Or  like  the  birds,  that,  every  year, 

Melt  back  into  the  sky  ?  " 

"  No,  love  :  the  flowers  may  bloom  their  time, 
The  birdlings  sing  their  merry  chime, 
Till  bids  them  seek  another  clime 


THE    FIRST   MARTYR.  .  13 

The  Winter  sharp  and  cold  ; 
But  he  who  Traits  with  fettered  limb, 
Nor  God  nor  Nature  sends  for  him, — 

He  is  not  weak  nor  old. 

"  He  lies  upon  a  prison  bed 
With  sabre  gashes  on  his  head ; 
And  one  short  month  will  see  him  led 

Where  Vengeance  wields  the  sword. 
Then  shall  his  form  be  lifted  high, 
And  strangled  in  the  public  eye 

With  horrible  accord." 

"  But,  mother,  say,  what  has  he  done? 
Has  he  not  robbed  or  murdered  one  ?  " 
••  My  darling,  he  has  injured  none. 

To  free  the  wretched  slaves 
He  led  a  band  of  chosen  men, 
Brave,  but  too  few  ;   made  captives  then, 

And  doomed  to  felon  graves." 

"  O  mother  !  let  us  go  this  day 
To  that  sad  prison,  far  away  ; 
The  cruel  governor  we  '11  pray 


14  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

To  unloose  the  door  so  stout. 
Some  comfort  we  can  bring  him,  sure  : 
And  is  he  locked  up  so  secure, 

We  could  not  get  him  out?  " 

"No,  darling  :  he  is  closely  kept." 
Then  nearer  to  my  heart  she  crept, 
And,  hiding  there  her  beauty,  wept 

For  human  misery. 
Child !  it  is  fit  that  thou  shouldst  weep  ; 
The  very  babe  unborn  would  leap 

To  rescue  such  as  he. 

O  babe  unborn  !  O  future  race  ! 
Heir  of  our  glory  and  disgrace, 
We  cannot  see  thy  veiled  face  ; 

But  shouldst  thou  keep  our  crime, 
No  new  Apocalypse  need  say 
In  what  wild  woe  shall  pass  away 
The  falsehood  of  the  time. 


APRIL    19.  15 


APRIL   19. 

A  spasm  o'er  my  heart 

Sweeps  like  a  burning  flood  ; 
A  sentence  rings  upon  mine  ears, 

Avenge  the  guiltless  blood  ! 

Sit  not  in  health  and  ease, 

Nor  reckon  loss  nor  gain, 
When  men  who  bear  our  country's  flag 

Are  set  upon  and  slain, 

Not  by  mistaken  hearts 

"With  long  oppression  wrung, 

Filled  with  great  thoughts  that  ripen  late, 
And  madden,  when  they're  young. 


16  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

The  murderer's  wicked  lust 

Their  righteous  steps  withstood  ; 

The  zeal  that  thieves  and  pirates  know 
Brought  down  the  guiltless  blood. 


From  every  vein  of  mine 

Its  fiery  burthen  take  ; 
From  every  drop  the  burning  coin 

Of  righteous  vengeance  make. 


Low  let  the  city  lie 

That  thus  her  guests  receives  ; 
A  smoking  ruin  to  the  eye 

Be  marble  walls  and  eaves  ! 


Thou  God  of  love  and  wrath, 
That  watchest  on  the  wing, 

Remorseless  at  those  caitiff  hearts 
Thy  bolts  of  judgment  fling  ! 


APRIL   19.  17 

Blot  from  the  sight  of  heaven 

The  city,  where  she  stood, 
And  with  thy  might,  avenging  Right, 

Wipe  out  the  guiltless  blood  ! 


18  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 


OUR  ORDERS. 

Weave  no  more  silks,  ye  Lyons  looms, 
To  deck  our  girls  for  gay  delights ! 

The  crimson  flower  of  battle  blooms, 
And  solemn  marches  fill  the  night. 

Weave  but  the  flag  whose  bars  to-day 
Drooped  heavy  o'er  our  early  dead, 

And  homely  garments,  coarse  and  gray, 
For  orphans  that  must  earn  their  bread  ! 

Keep  back  your  tunes,  ye  viols  sweet, 
That  poured  delight  from  other  lands  ! 

Rouse  there  the  dancer's  restless  feet : 
The  trumpet  leads  our  warrior  bands. 


OUR   ORDERS.  19 

And  ye  that  wage  the  war  of  words 
With  mystic  fame  and  subtle  power, 

Go,  chatter  to  the  idle  birds, 

Or  teach  the  lesson  of  the  hour  ! 

Ye  Sibyl  Arts,  in  one  stern  knot 

Be  all  your  offices  combined  ! 
Stand  close,  while  Courage  draws  the  lot, 

The  destiny  of  human  kind. 

And  if  that  destiny  could  fail, 

The  sun  should  darken  in  the  sky, 
The  eternal  bloom  of  Nature  pale, 

And  God,  and  Truth,  and  Freedom  die  ! 


20  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 


REQUITAL. 

He  died  beneath  the  uplifted  thong 
Who  spared  for  us  a  thousand  lives  : 

He  came  to  sing  glad  Israel's  song ; 
We  gave  him  Babylonian  gyves. 

With  swelling  heart  and  simple  thought 
He  warned  us  of  the  unheeded  snare 

Our  chiefs  discovered :  vilely  caught, 
They  flung  him  back  to  perish  there. 

Did  Pilate  seal  the  Saviour's  fate 
As  still  the  shuddering  Nations  say, 

When,  in  that  hour  of  high  debate, 

With  ill-washed  hands  he  turned  away  ? 


REQUITAL.  21 

Sweet  Christ,  with  flagellations  brought 

To  thine  immortal  martyrdom, 
Cancel  the  bitter  treasons  wrought 

By  men  who  bid  thy  kingdom  come. 

Their  sinful  blood  we  may  not  urge 

While  Mercy  stays  thy  righteous  hand  ; 

But  take  all  ours,  if  that  should  purge 
The  wicked  patience  of  the  land. 


22  POEMS  OF   THE   WAR. 


THE  QUESTION. 

Tell  me,  Master,  am  I  free  ? 
From  the  prison  land  I  come, 
From  a  mocked  humanity, 
From  the  fable  of  a  home  ; 

From  the  shambles,  where  my  wife 
With  my  baby  at  her  breast, 
Faded  from  my  narrow  life, 
Rudely  bartered,  ill-possest. 

Will  you  keep  me,  for  my  faith, 
From  the  hound  that  scents  my  track, 
From  the  riotous,  drunken  breath, 
From  the  murder  at  my  back? 


THE   QUESTION.  23 

Masters,  ye  are  fighting  long  ; 
TTell  your  trumpet-blast  we  know  ; 
Are  ye  come  to  right  a  wrong  ? 
Do  we  call  you  friend  or  foe  ? 

God  must  come,  for  whom  we  pray, 
Knowing  his  deliverance  true  ; 
Shall  our  men  be  left  to  say 
He  must  work  it  free  of  you  ? 

Fetters  of  a  burning  chain 
Held  the  spirit  of  our  braves  ; 
Waiting  for  the  nobler  strain, 
Silence  told  him  we  were  slaves. 


24  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 


THE  FLAG. 

There's  a  flag  hangs  over  my  threshold,  whose  folds 

are  more  dear  to  me 
Than  the  blood  that  thrills  in  my  bosom  its  earnest  of 

liberty ; 
And  dear  are  the  stars  it  harbors  in  its  sunny  field 

of  blue 
As  the  hope  of  a  further  heaven,  that  lights  all  our 

dim  lives  through. 

But  now  should  my  guests  be  merry,  the  house  is  in 

holiday  guise, 
Looking  out  through  its    burnished  windows  like  a 

score  of  welcoming  eyes. 
Come  hither,  my  brothers,  who  wander  in  saintliness 

and  in  sin  ; 
Come  hither,  ye  pilgrims  of  Nature,  my  heart  doth 

invite  you  in. 


THE  FLAG.  25 

My  wine  is  not  of  the  choicest,  yet  bears  it  an  honest 

brand  ; 
And  the  bread  that  I  bid  you  lighten,  I  break  with  no 

sparing  hand : 
But  pause,    ere   ye  pass   to   taste    it,  one   act   must 

accomplished  be,  — 
Salute  the  flag  in  its  virtue,  before  ye  sit  down  with 

me. 

The  flag  of  our  stately  battles,  not  struggles  of  wrath 

and  greed, 
Its  stripes  were  a  holy  lesson,  its  spangles  a  deathless 

creed : 
'Twas  red  with  the  blood  of  freemen,  and  white  with 

the  fear  of  the  foe  ; 
And  the  stars  that  fight  in  their  courses  'gainst  tyrants 

its  symbols  know. 

Come  hither,  thou  son  of  my  mother  ;  we  were  reared 

in  the  self-same  arms  ; 
Thou  hast  many  a  pleasant  gesture,  thy  mind  hath  its 

gifts  and  charms  ; 


26  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

But  my  heart  is  as  stern  to  question  as  mine  eyes  are 

of  sorrows  full : 
Salute  the  flag  in  its  virtue,  or  pass  on  where  others 

rule ! 

Thou   lord  of  a  thousand  acres,  with  heaps  of  an- 

counted  gold, 
The   steeds   of   thy    stall   are   haughty,   thy   laekeys 

cunning  and  bold : 
I  envy   no  jot  of  thy   splendor,  I  rail  at  thy  follies 

none, — 
Salute  the  flag  in  its  virtue,  or  leave  my  poor  house 

alone ! 

Fair   lady   with    silken  flouncings,  high  waving   thy 

stainless  plume, 
We  welcome  thee  to  our  banquet,  a  flower  of  costliest 

bloom. 
Let  an  hundred  maids  live  widowed  to  furnish  thy 

bridal  bed ; 
But  pause  where  the  flag  doth  question,  and  bend  thy 
triumphant  head. 


THE  FLAG.  27 

Take  down  now  your  flaunting  banner ;   for  a  scout 

comes  breathless  and  pale, 
With  the  terror  of  death  upon  him  ;  of  failure  is  all 

his  tale : 
"They   have   fled  while   the    flag  waved   o'er   them, 

they've  turned  to  the  foe  their  back  ; 
They   are    scattered,  pursued,  and  slaughtered;    the 

fields  are  all  rout  and  wrack." 

Pass   hence  then,  the    friends    I   gathered,   a  goodly 

company, 
All   ye   that   have    manhood  in  you,  go,   perish   for 

Liberty ! 
But  I  and   the  babes    God  gave  me  will  wait  with 

uplifted  hearts, 
With  the  firm  smile  ready  to  kindle,  and  the  will  to 

perform  our  parts. 

When  the  last  true    heart   lies  bloodless,    when   the 

fierce  and  the  false  have  won, 
Til   press  in   turn  to  my  bosom  each  daughter  and 

either  son  : 


28  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

Bid  them  loose  the  flag  from  its  hearings,  and  we'll  lav 

us  down  to  rest 
With  the  glory  of  home  about  us,  and  its  freedom 

locked  in  our  breast. 


HARVARD  STUDENTS  SONG.  29 


HARVARD   STUDENT'S   SONG. 

Remember  ye  the  fateful  gun  that  sounded 

To    Sumter's    walls    from    Charleston's    treacherous 

shore  ? 
Remember  ye  how  hearts  indignant  bounded 
TThen  our  first  dead  came  back  from  Baltimore  ? 
The  banner  fell  that  every  breeze  had  flattered, 
The  hum  of  thrift  was  hushed  with  sudden  woe  ; 
"We  raised  anew  the  emblems  shamed  and  shattered, 
And  turned  a  front  resolved  to  meet  the  foe. 

Remember  ye  how,  out  of  boyhood  leaping, 

Our  gallant  mates  stood  ready  for  the  fray, 

As  new-fledged  eaglets  rise,  with  sudden  sweeping, 

And  meet  unscared  the  dazzling  front  of  day  ? 

Our  classic  toil  became  inglorious  leisure, 

We  praised  the  calm  Horatian  ode  no  more, 

But  answered  back  with  song  the  martial  measure, 

That  held  its  throb  above  the  cannon's  roar. 


30  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

Remember  ye  the  pageants  dim  and  solemn, 
Where  Love  and  Grief  have  borne  the  funeral  pall  ? 
The  joyless  marching  of  the  mustered  column, 
With  arms  reversed,  to  Him  who  conquers  all? 
Oh  !  give  them  back,  thou  bloody  breast  of  Treason, 
They  were  our  own,  the  darlings  of  our  hearts  : 
They  come  benumbed  and  frosted  out  of  season, 
With  whom  the  summer  of  our  youth  departs. 

Look  back  no  more  !  our  time  has  come,  my  brothers  ! 
In  Fate's  high  roll  our  names  are  written  too : 
We  fill  the  mournful  gaps  left  bare  by  others, 
The  ranks  where  Fear  has  never  broken  through. 
Look,  ancient  Walls,  upon  our  stern  election  ! 
Keep,  Echoes  dear,  remembrance  of  our  breath ! 
And  gentle  eyes,  and  hearts  of  pure  affection, 
Light  us  resolved  to  victory  or  death  ! 


ONE  AND  MANY.  31 


ONE   AND   MANY. 

He  is  dead  with  whom  we  spake  ; 
Ere  the  latest  war  cloud  brake, 
Vanished,  with  the  smile  he  wore 
When  we  parted  evermore. 

As  a  star  that  leaves  its  place 
Fills  the  heavens  with  passing  grace, 
Did  he  set  our  hearts  aglow, 
Loving  loath  to  see  him  go. 

Where  he  was,  a  shadow  rests, 
Veiling  void  in  aching  breasts  : 
He  but  heeds  the  immortal  rule, 
Lifted  to  the  Beautiful ! 


32  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 


LEFT  BEHIND. 

The  foe  is  retreating,  the  field  is  clear ; 
My  thoughts  fly  like  lightning,  my  steps  stay  here  ; 
I'm  bleeding  to  faintness,  no  help  is  near : 
What,  ho  !  comrades  ;  what,  ho  ! 

The  battle  was  deadly,  the  shots  fell  thick ; 
We  leaped  from  our  trenches,  and  charged  them  quick  ; 
I  knew  not  my  wound  till  my  heart  grew  sick : 
So  there,  comrades  ;  so  there. 

We  charged  the  left  column,  that  broke  and  fled ; 
Poured  powder  for  powder,  and  lead  for  lead : 
So  they  must  surrender,  what  matter  who's  dead? 
Who  cares,  comrades?  who  cares? 

My  soul  rises  up  on  the  wings  of  the  slain, 
A  triumph  thrills  through  me  that  quiets  the  pain : 
If  it  were  yet  to  do,  I  would  do  it  again  ! 
Farewell,  comrades,  farewell ! 


HYMN  FOR  A  SPRING  FESTIVAL.  33 


HYMN   FOR  A   SPRING   FESTIVAL, 

MAY  27,  1862. 

In  this  glad  time  of  Spring 
Nature  doth  garlands  bring, 

Crowning  her  jo}^s. 
All  that  was  seared  with  frost, 
Buried,  and  mourned  for  lost, 
With  a  new  Pentecost, 

Flame-touched,  doth  rise. 

Come,  then,  ye  sons  of  men  ! 
Stand,  and  take  heart  again, 

Blessing  the  year. 
Earth  fills  her  breast  with  food  ; 
Odors  enchant  the  wood  ; 
Each  leafy  solitude 

Music  doth  cheer. 

3 


34  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

Where  the  war-trumpets  blow, 
Our  legions  meet  the  foe 

With  deathful  din  ; 
But  hosts  unseen  are  there, 
Fight  and  fatigue  to  share  : 
So  we  but  strive  with  prayer, 

Steadfast,  we  win. 

O  hearts  that  wonder  long  ! 
O  Truth  that  sufferest  wrong  ! 

Meet  in  your  might ; 
Lift  the  pure  banner  high  ; 
Raise  one  impassioned  cry, 
Nobler  than  victory,  — 

"  God  speed  the  right !  " 

Through  the  dark  years  of  crime. 
For  this  appointed  time 

Justice  did  wait. 
Purpose  and  Hope,  that  lay 
Passive  and  dumb  as  clay, 
Stand,  in  God's  chosen  day, 

Stronger  than  Fate. 


HYMN  FOR  A  SPRING  FESTIVAL.  35 

We  then,  with  faith  increased, 
Hold  our  fraternal  feast, 

Death  making  sign, 
Solemn  as  when  he  stood 
Where  our  Supremest  Good 
Bade  memory  count  his  blood 

Dearer  than  wine. 

All  glories,  Lord  !  are  thine  ; 
All  joys  are  throbs  divine 

Pulsed  from  thy  breast. 
As  thine  infinity, 
Peace-crowned,  returns  to  thee, 
Let  our  toil  gathered  be 

Into  thy  rest. 


36  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 


THE  JEWELLER'S   SHOP  IN  WAR-TIME. 

Past  these  counters  wilt  thou  lead  me, 

Notes  of  luxury  to  read  me 

In  the  pearly  shows  and  golden 

That  to  outward  boast  embolden  ? 

Watchful  sit  the  shapes  of  sorrow. 

Say  :  the  Black  Death  comes  to-morrow. 

Bride,  the  altar-gifts  are  waiting 
The  permission  of  thy  mating  ; 
Heart  and  purse  make  brief  unclasping 
From  the  daily  miser-grasping. 
Fill  the  cup  !  away  with  sorrow  ! 
Will  the  Black  Death  come  to-morrow  ? 

Lo  !  he  lies  in  bloody  heather, 
'Neath  the  burning  summer  weather  : 
Not  a  drop  his  dry  lip  wetteth  ; 
Dryer  yet  his  sad  eye  setteth. 


THE  JEWELLER'S  SHOP  IN   WAR-TIME.       37 

Rend  thy  bridal  robes  for  sorrow  : 
Doth  the  Black  Death  wait  the  morrow  ? 

See  !  the  silver  vessels  goodly 
Hands  of  hirelings  stir  not  rudely  ; 
Gems  that  deck  the  board's  white  wearing, 
In  a  house  of  noble  bearing ; 
Legendary  urns  of  sorrow  : 
Death  attends  the  feast  to-morrow  ! 

See  !  the  rings  of  wild  desire,  — 
Dreamy  opal ;  diamond  fire  ; 
Emerald,  green  as  summer  grasses 
Lit  of  sun  that  never  passes  ; 
Jets,  the  dim  delights  of  sorrow, 
That  the  Black  Death  buys,  the  morrow. 

Chalice  see  and  salver  ghostly 
That  affright  the  gazer  mostly  ; 
Stirrup-cup  that  awes  and  blesses, 
Cordial  drop  of  last  distresses  ; 
Pearl  of  hope  dissolved  in  sorrow, 
Dear  where  Death  is  due  the  morrow. 


38  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

Take  me  rather  when  the  hours 
Write  their  journal  fair  in  flowers  ; 
Where  our  sweet  joys  die  and  darken 
With  the  firmament  to  hearken. 
Soft  in  silence  sinks  our  sorrow ; 
Resurrection  comes  to-morrow. 

Life  ye  tear  to  shred  and  flitter, 
Joying  in  the  costly  glitter 
To  rehearse  each  art-abortion 
That  consumes  a  widow's  portion. 
Lavish  feast  makes  secret  sorrow  ; 
Pinch  at  heart  brings  Death  to-morrow  ! 

Take  me  where  sweet  doctrine,  hoarded, 
Stays  the  ravage,  ill-afforded  ; 
Wisdom's  store,  divinely  pleasured, 
Hero  heart-beat,  poet-measured. 
Song  that  lightens  out  of  sorrow 
Shields  from  every  Death  to-morrow. 


THE  BATTLE-EUCHARIST.  39 


THE   BATTLE -EUCHARIST. 

Above  the  seas  of  gold  and  glass 
The  Christ,  transfigured,  stands  to-day  ; 
Below,  in  troubled  currents,  pass 
The  tidal  fates  of  man  away. 

Through  that  environed  blessedness 
Our  sorrow  cannot  wholly  rise, 
Nor  his  swift  sympathy  redress 
The  anguish  that  in  Nature  lies. 

Yet  mindful  from  his  banquet  sends 
The  guest  of  God  a  cup  of  wine, 
And  shares  a  morsel  with  his  friends, 
Who,  wondering,  wait  without  the  shrine. 


40  POEMS  OF   THE   WAR. 


Remain  with  us,  O  Lord  !  remain  ; 
Our  faint  souls  will  not  let  thee  go  : 
Bear  with  us  this  surpassing  pain, 
Abide  our  sacrament  of  woe, 

While  ghostly  hands  from  battle-fields 
Reproach  with  succor  long  delayed, 
And  all  the  wealth  our  treasure  yields 
Buys  not  the  power  to  hasten  aid. 

O  Christ,  that  multipliest  bread ! 
Thou  Feeder  of  the  multitude, 
On  them  thy  heart's  redemption  shed, 
Feed  our  beloved  with  heavenly  food  ; 

And  open  wide  the  gates  of  thought, 
That,  sitting  at  this  feast  divine, 
Our  faith  may  see  deliverance  wrought 
By  pangs  that  bear  the  mark  of  thine. 


BATTLE -HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC.  41 


BATTLE -HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC. 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 

Lord: 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of 

wrath  are  stored  ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful   lightning  of  his  terrible 

swift  sword : 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the   watch-fires    of  a   hundred 

circling  camps ; 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews 

and  damps  ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and 

flaring  lamps. 

His  dav  is  marchiu£  on. 


42  POEMS  OF  THE   WAR. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows  of 

steel : 
"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you  my 

grace  shall  deal ; 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with 

his  heel, 

Since  God  is  marching  on." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 
retreat ; 

He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  judg- 
ment-seat : 

Oh !  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him !  be  jubilant, 
my  feet ! 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the 

sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me  : 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men 

free, 

While  God  is  marching  on. 


LYRICS  OF  THE  STEEET. 


43 


THE  TELEGRAMS.  45 


THE  TELEGRAMS. 

Bring  the  hearse  to  the  station, 

When  one  shall  demand  it,  late  ; 
For  that  dark  consummation 

The  traveller  must  not  wait. 
Men  say  not  by  what  connivance 

He  slid  from  his  weight  of  woe, 
Whether  sickness  or  weak  contrivance, 

But  we  know  him  glad  to  go. 

On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
What  next? 

Nor  let  the  priest  be  wanting 
With  his  hollow  eyes  of  prayer, 

While  the  sexton  wrenches,  panting, 
The  stone  from  the  dismal  stair. 


46  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

But  call  not  the  friends  who  left  him 

When  fortune  and  pleasure  fled : 
Mortality  hath  not  bereft  him, 

That  they  should  confront  him,  dead. 
On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
What  next? 

Bid  my  mother  be  ready : 

We  are  coming  home  to-night : 
Let  my  chamber  be  still  and  shady 

With  the  softened  nuptial  light. 
We  have  travelled  so  gayly,  madly, 

No  shadow  hath  crossed  our  way  ; 
Yet  we  come  back  like  children,  gladly, 

Joy-spent  with  our  holiday. 

On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
What  next  ? 

Stop  the  train  at  the  landing, 

And  search  every  carriage  through  ; 

Let  no  one  escape  your  handing, 
None  shiver,  or  shrink  from  view. 


THE   TELEGRAMS.  47 

Three  blood-stained  guests  expect  him  ; 

Three  murders  oppress  his  soul ; 
Be  strained  every  nerve  to  detect  him 
Who  feasted,  and  killed,  and  stole. 
On  and  on  and  ever  on ! 
What  next? 

Be  rid  of  the  notes  they  scattered ; 

The  great  house  is  down  at  last ; 
The  image  of  gold  is  shattered, 

And  never  can  be  recast. 
The  bankrupts  show  leaden  features, 

And  weary,  distracted  looks, 
While  harpy-eyed,  wolf-souled  creatures 
Pry  through  their  dishonored  books. 
On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
What  next? 


Let  him  hasten,  lest  worse  befall  him, 

To  look  on  me,  ere  I  die  : 
I  will  whisper  one  curse  to  appall  him, 

Ere  the  black  flood  carrv  me  bv. 


48  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

His  bridal  ?     The  friends  forbid  it ; 

I  have  shown  them  his  proofs  of  guilt ; 
Let  him  hear,  with  my  laugh,  who  did  it ; 
Then  hurry,  Death,  as  thou  wilt ! 
On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
What  next? 

Thus  the  living  and  dying  daily 

Flash  forward  their  wants  and  words, 
While  still  on  Thought's  slender  railway 

Sit  scathless  the  little  birds : 
They  heed  not  the  sentence  dire 

By  magical  hands  exprest, 
And  only  the  sun's  warm  fire 

Stirs  softly  their  happy  breast. 

On  and  on  and  ever  on  ! 
God  next ! 


THE   WEDDING. 


THE  WEDDING. 

In  her  satin  gown  so  fine 
Trips  the  bride  within  the  shrine. 
Waits  the  street  to  see  her  pass, 
Like  a  vision  in  a  glass. 
Roses  crown  her  peerless  head : 
Keep  your  lilies  for  the  dead ! 


Something  of  the  light  without 
Enters  with  her,  veiled  about ; 
Sunbeams,  hiding  in  her  hair, 
Please  themselves  with  silken  wear ; 
Shadows  point  to  what  shall  be 
In  the  dim  futurity. 


50  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Wreathe  with  flowers  the  weighty  yoke 
Might  of  mortal  never  broke. 
From  the  altar  of  her  vows 
To  the  grave's  unsightly  house 
Measured  is  the  path,  and  made : 
All  the  work  is  planned  and  paid. 


As  a  girl,  with  ready  smile, 

Where  shall  rise  some  ponderous  pile, 

On  the  chosen,  festal  day, 

Turns  the  initial  sod  away, 

So  the  bride  with  fingers  frail 

Founds  a  temple  or  a  jail,  — 


Or  a  palace,  it  may  be, 
Flooded  full  with  luxury, 
Open  yet  to  deadliest  things, 
And  the  Midnight  Angel's  wings. 
Keep  its  chambers  purged  with  prayer 
Faith  can  guard  it,  Love  is  rare. 


THE   WEDDING.  51 

Organ,  sound  thy  wedding-tunes  ! 
Priest,  recite  the  sacred  runes ! 
Hast  no  ghostly  help  nor  art 
Can  enrich  a  selfish  heart, 
Blessing  bind  'twixt  greed  and  gold, 
Joy  with  bloom  for  bargain  sold  ? 


Hail,  the  wedded  task  of  life  ! 
Mending  husband,  moulding  wife. 
Hope  brings  labor,  labor  peace  ; 
Wisdom  ripens,  goods  increase  ; 
Triumph  crowns  the  sainted  head, 
And  our  lilies  wait  the  dead. 


52  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 


THE   FUNERAL. 

As  I  passed  down  the  street, 
Sighing  and  sieging, 

Making  its  pavement  sweet 
With  flowery  flinging, 

Came  the  unwelcome  feet, 
Sad  burthen  bringing. 


Death  !  I  forgot  thou  shouldst 
Harvest  this  morning : 

Not  for  thy  festival 
Was  my  adorning ; 

Yet  to  my  heart  I  take, 
Duteous,  thy  warning. 


THE  FUNERAL.  53 

Out  of  the  pleasant  day 

Darkly  they  lay  thee  : 
Shall  thine  accustomed  haunts 

No  more  display  thee  ; 
Shall  thy  high  house  of  life 

Cease  to  obey  thee. 


Done  are  thy  deeds  of  good, 
And  thy  malefeasance  ; 

Ended  the  years  of  dole, 
And  the  short  pleasance  : 

Thou  art  a  power  no  more, 
Only  a  presence. 


Hot  tears  bedim  the  eyes 
That  would  behold  thee  ; 

Death-spasms  wring  the  hearts 
Whose  loves  infold  thee  ; 

While  monumental  Grief 
Waits  to  inmould  thee. 


54  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Whither,  ah  !  whither  gone, 
From  our  wild  weeping? 

For  what  new  threshing-floor 
Bound  with  strange  reaping  ? 

Taken,  we  know  no  more, 
Into  God's  keeping. 


THE   CHARITABLE    VISITOR.  55 


THE  CHARITABLE  VISITOR. 

She  carries  no  flag  of  fashion,  her  clothes  are  but 

passing  plain, 
Though  she  conies  from  a  city  palace  all  jubilant  with 

her  reign : 
She  threads  a  bewildering  alley,  with  ashes  and  dust 

thrown  out, 
And  fighting  and  cursing  children,  who  mock  as  she 

moves  about. 

Why  walk  you  this  way,  my  lady,  in  the  snow  and 

slippery  ice  ? 
These   are  Dot  the  shrines  of  virtue,  —  here  misery 

lives,  and  vice  : 
Rum  helps  the  heart  of  starvation  to  a  courage  bold 

and  bad  ; 
And  women  are  loud  and  brawling,  while  men  sit 

maudlin  and  mad. 


56  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

I  see  in  the  corner  yonder  the  boy  with  a  broken 

arm, 
And  the  mother  whose  blind  wrath  did  it,  —  strange 

guardian  from  childish  harm  ! 
That  face  will  grow  bright  at  your  coming,  but  your 

steward  might  come  as  well, 
Or  better  the  Sunday  teacher  that  helped  him  to  read 

and  spell. 

Oh !  I  do  not  come  of  my  willing,  with  froward  and 
restless  feet : 

I  have  pleasant  tasks  in  my  chamber,  and  friends  well- 
beloved  to  greet. 

To  follow  the  dear  Lord  Jesus,  I  walk  in  the  storm 
and  snow ; 

Where  I  find  the  trace  of  his  footsteps,  there  lilies  and 
roses  grow. 

He  said  that  to  give  was  blessed,  more  blessed  than 

to  receive ; 
But  what  could  he  take,  dear  angels,  of  all  that  we 

had  to  give, 


THE  CHARITABLE   VISITOR.  57 

Save  a  little  pause  of  attention,  and  a  little  thrill  of 

delight, 
When  the  dead  were  waked  from  their  slumbers,  and 

the  blind  recalled  to  sight  ? 

Say,  the  King  came  forth  with  the  morning,  and  opened 

his  palace  doors, 
Thence  flinging  his  gifts  like  sunbeams  that  break  upon 

marble  floors  ; 
But  the  wind  with  wild  pinions   caught  them,  and 

carried  them  round  about : 
Though  I  looked  till  mine  eyes  were  dazzled,  I  never 

could  make  them  out. 

But  he  bade  me  go  far  and  find  them,  "  go  seek  them 

with  zeal  and  pain  : 
The  hand  is  most  welcome  to  me  that  brings  me  mine 

own  again ; 
And  those  who  follow   them  furthest,  with   faithful 

searching  and  sight, 
Are  brought  with  joy  to  my  presence,  and  sit  at  my 

feet  all  night." 


58  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

So,  hither  and  thither  walking,  I  gather  them  broadly 

cast ; 
"Where  yonder  young  face  doth  sicken,  it  may  be  the 

best  and  last. 
In  no  void  or  vague  of  duty  I  come  to  his  aid  to-day : 
I  bring  God's  love  to  his  bedside,  and  carry  God's 

gift  away. 


THE  FINE  LADY.  59 


THE  FINE   LADY. 

Her  heart  is  set  on  folly, 
An  amber  gathering  straws  : 

She  courts  each  poor  occurrence, 
Heeds  not  the  heavenly  laws. 
Pity  her ! 

She  has  a  little  beauty, 

And  she  flaunts  it  in  the  day, 

While  the  selfish  wrinkles,  spreadiDg, 
Steal  all  its  charm  away. 

Pity  her ! 

She  has  a  little  money, 

And  she  flings  it  everywhere  : 

'Tis  a  gewgaw  on  her  bosom, 
A  tinsel  in  her  hair. 

Pity  her ! 


60  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

She  has  a  little  feeling, 
She  spreads  a  foolish  net 

That  snares  her  own  weak  footsteps, 
Not  his  for  whom  'tis  set. 

Pity  her  ! 

Ye  harmless  household  drudges, 
Your  draggled  daily  wear 

And  horny  palms  of  labor 
A  softer  heart  may  bear. 

Pity  her  ! 

Ye  steadfast  ones,  whose  burthens 
Weigh  valorous  shoulders  down, 

With  hands  that  cannot  idle, 
And  brows  that  will  not  frown, 
Pity  her  ! 

Ye  saints,  whose  thoughts  are  folded 

As  graciously  to  rest 
As  a  dove's  stainless  pinions 

Upon  her  guileless  breast, 

Pity  her  ! 


THE  FINE  LADY.  61 

But  most,  ye  helpful  angels 

That  send  distress  and  work, 
Hot  task  and  sweating  forehead, 

To  heal  man's  idle  irk, 

Pity  her  ! 


LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 


THE   DARKENED   HOUSE. 

One  year  ago  this  dreary  night, 

This  house,  that  in  my  way 
Checks  the  swift  pulses  of  delight, 

Was  cordial  glad,  and  gay. 

The  household  angels  tended  there 

Their  ivy-cinctured  bower, 
And  by  the  hardier  plant  grew  fair 

A  lovely  lily-flower. 

The  skies  rained  sunshine  on  its  head, 

It  throve  in  summer  air  : 
"  How  straight  and  sound  ! "  the  father  said  ; 

The  mother  said,  "  How  fair  !  " 


THE  DARKENED  HOUSE.  63 

One  little  year  is  gathering  up 

Its  glories  to  depart ; 
The  skies  have  left  one  marble  drop 

Within  the  lily's  heart. 

For  growth  and  bloom  no  more  avails 

The  Seasons'  changing  breath  : 
Fixed  in  sad  constancy,  it  feels 

The  sculpture-touch  of  Death. 

But  from  its  breast  let  golden  rays, 

Immortal,  break  and  rise, 
Linking  the  sorrow-clouded  days 

With  dawning  paradise. 


64  LYRICS  OF   THE  STREET. 


THE   OLD   MAN'S   WALK. 

Into  the  sadness  of  the  winter  night 

I  bear  my  heart : 
Shunning  the  crowded  streets,  the  glaring  light, 

I  walk  apart. 

With  trembling  feet  and  head  astound  I  go, 

With  cheeks  chill- wet : 
I  must  return  unto  that  house  of  woe  ; 

I  cannot  yet. 

Unhappy  words  compel  me  from  the  hearth 

Of  love  bereft ; 
Should  send  me  reckless  o'er  the  rolling  earth, 

With  bosom  cleft. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S   WALK.  65 

O  Stranger !  ask  not  why  I  stray  abroad 

Thus  out  of  time. 
Mine  eye  has  not  the  furtive  glance  of  fraud, 

The  leer  of  crime. 

Deep  Night,  within  thy  gloomy  catafalque 

Bury  my  grief ; 
And,  while  thy  candles  light  my  funeral  walk, 

Promise  relief. 

Let  lightsome  spirits  that  outwatch  thy  reign, 

Dawn's  sentinels, 
Shed  golden  balsam  for  the  sons  of  pain 

In  prison  cells. 


"  Ave,"  I  hear  the  pitying  angels  say  ; 

From  depths  they  call ; 
"Through  all  Grief's  multitude  Heaven  makes  a 
way." 

Heaven  rest  us  all ! 


66  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 


AT  A  CORNER. 

Here  should  I  meet  you,  here  only,  recalling 
The  soul-drunken  look  you  vouchsafed  me  one  day, 
That,  like  a  spark  in  some  hidden  mine  falling, 
Shook  my  frail  senses,  and  swept  me  away. 

What  did  that  look  portend  ?  dark  was  its  meaning, 
Faded  in  tears  the  swift  gleam  of  delight ; 
Ask  the  deep  thoughts  of  eternity's  screening, 
Ask  the  wide  stars  in  the  bosom  of  night. 

Like  some  winged  Seraphim,  never  descending, 
That  for  a  moment  unveils  to  our  view : 
Sudden  its  ravishment,  bitter  its  ending ; 
Love  flashed  a  promise  that  Life  never  knew. 


THE  BLACK  COACH.  67 


THE   BLACK    COACH. 

In  the  black  coach  you  must  ride,  - 
You,  so  dainty  once  a  time. 
We  who  saw  your  bloom  of  pride, 
Stifle  now  the  crop  of  crime, 
Lest  its  poisonous,  fruitful  birth 
Scatter  monsters  o'er  the  earth. 

She  had  holidays  as  gay 

As  the  highest  you  have  known, 

Lady,  flitting  fast  away, 

With  your  chariot  for  a  throne. 

Wild-flowers  for  a  moment  please 

In  the  hands  of  pampered  ease. 


68  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Lifted,  like  a  summer  treasure 
In  a  golden  goblet  placed, 
To  decline  in  mournful  leisure, 
Scorned,  untended,  and  disgraced  ; 
With  the  meadow  yet  in  sight 
Where  the  daisies  glisten  white. 

Come,  a  carriage  blacker  still, 
Narrowed  to  the  form  you  bear ; 
Bring  the  last  of  good  and  ill ; 
Take  the  leavings  of  despair. 
Death's  cold  purity  condense 
Vaporous  sin  to  soul's  intense. 

Ere  the  prison-gates  unswing, 
Let  the  spirit  portals  ope  ; 
While  the  Winter  holds  the  Spring 
Shall  the  grave-mound  cover  hope  ; 
Come  the  pang  that  ends  all  woe, 
God  can  better  pardon  so. 


PLAY.  69 


PLAY. 

From  yon  den  of  double-dealing 
With  its  Devil's  host, 

Come  I,  maddened  out  of  healing. 
All  is  lost. 

So  the  false  wine  cannot  blind  me, 
Nor  the  braggart  toast, 

But  I  know  that  Hell  doth  bind  me  ; 
All  is  lost. 

Where  the  lavish  gain  attracts  us, 

And  the  easy  cost, 
While  the  damning  dicer  backs  us, 

All  is  lost. 


70  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Blest  the  rustic  in  his  furrows, 

Toil  and  sweat-embossed ; 

Blest  are  honest  souls  in  sorrows : 
All  is  lost. 

Wifely  love,  the  closer  clinging 

When  men  need  thee  most, 

Shall  I  come,  dishonor  bringing? 
All  is  lost. 

Babe  in  silken  cradle  lying, 
To  low  music  tossed, 

Will  they  wake  thee  for  my  dying? 
All  is  lost. 

Yonder,  where  the  river  grimly 
Whitens  like  a  ghost, 

Must  I  plunge  and  perish  dimly  : 
All  is  lost. 


THE  LOST  JEWEL.  71 


THE  LOST   JEWEL. 

Cast  on  the  turbid  current  of  the  street, 

My  pearl  doth  swim  ; 
Oh  for  the  diver's  cunning  hands  and  feet 

To  come  to  him  ! 

No :  I'll  not  seek  the  madness  of  thine  eyes, 

Since,  day  by  day, 
Life  brings  its  noiseless  blessings  from  the  skies  ; 

For  which  we  pray. 

"While  patient  Duty,  helped  of  heavenly  Art, 

Her  way  pursues, 
And  holy  loves  re-edify  the  heart 

The  passions  use. 


72  LYRICS  OF  TEE  STREET. 

God's  hand  can  bring  unheard-of  gifts  to  light 

From  Fate's  deep  sea  ; 
Has  pearls  enough  to  recompense  the  right, 

Only  not  thee. 


OUTSIDE   THE  PARTY.  73 


OUTSIDE   THE   PARTY. 

Thick  throng  the  snow-flakes,  the  evening  is  dreary, 
Glad  rings  the  music  in  yonder  gay  hall ; 
On  her  who  listens  here,  friendless  and  weary, 
Heavier  chill  than  the  winter's  doth  fall. 

At  yon  clear  window,  light-opened  before  me, 
Glances  the  face  I  have  worshipped  so  well : 
There's  the  fine  gentleman,  grand  in  his  glory  ; 
There,  the  fair  smile  by  whose  sweetness  I  fell. 

This  is  akin  to  him,  shunned  and  forsaken, 
That  at  my  bosom  sobs  low,  without  bread  ; 
Had  not  such  pleading  my  marble  heart  shaken, 
I  had  been  quiet,  long  since,  with  the  dead. 


74  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Oh  !  could  I  enter  there,  ghastly  and  squalid, 
Stand  in  men's  eyes  with  my  spirit  o'erborne, 
ShoAv  them  where  roses  bloomed,  crushed  now  and 

pallid, 
What  he  found  innocent,  leaving  forlorn,  — 

How  the  fair  ladies  would  fail  from  their  dances, 

Trembling,  aghast  at  my  horrible  tale  ! 

How    would    he    shrink    from    my    words    and   my 

glances ! 
How  would   they   shrink   from   him,   swooning    and 

pale  ! 

This  is  the  hair  that  was  soft  to  enchain  him ; 
Snakelike,  it  snarls  on  my  beautiless  brow  : 
These  are  the  hands  that  were  fond  to  detain  him 
With  a  sense-magic  then,  powerless  now  ! 

No  :  could  I  come,  like  a  ghost,  to  affright  him, 
How  should  that  heal  my  wound,  silence  my  pain  ? 
Had  I  the  wrath  of  God's  lightning  to  smite  him, 
That  could  not  bring  me  my  lost  peace  again. 


OUTSIDE  THE  PARTY.  75 

Ne'er  let  him  grieve  while  good  fortunes  betide  him, 
Ne'er  count  again  the  poor  game  lost  of  old  ; 
When  he  comes  forth,  with  his  young  bride  beside  him, 
Here  shall  they  find  us  both,  dead  in  the  cold. 


76  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 


THE   SOUL-HUNTER. 

Who  hunts  so  late  'neath  evening  skies, 
A  smouldering  love-brand  in  his  eyes  ? 
His  locks  outshame  the  black  of  night, 
Its  stars  are  duller  than  his  sight 

Who  hunts  so  late,  so  dark. 

A  drooping  mantle  shrouds  his  form, 
To  shield  him  from  the  winter's  storm  ? 
Or  is  there  something  at  his  side, 
That,  with  himself,  he  strives  to  hide, 
Who  hunts  so  late,  so  dark  ? 

He  hath  such  promise,  silver  sweet, 
Such  silken  hands,  such  fiery  feet, 


THE  SOUL-HUNTER.  77 

That,  where  his  look  has  charmed  the  prey, 
His  swift-winged  passion  forces  way, 
Who  hunts  so  late,  so  dark. 

Sure  no  one  underneath  the  moon 
Can  whisper  to  so  soft  a  tune  : 
The  hours  would  flit  from  dusk  to  dawn 
Lighter  than  dews  upon  the  lawn 

With  him,  so  late,  so  dark. 

But,  should  there  break  a  day  of  need, 
Those  hands  will  try  no  valorous  deed : 
No  help  is  in  that  sable  crest, 
Nor  manhood  in  that  hollow  breast 

That  sighed  so  late,  so  dark. 

O  maiden  !  of  the  salt  waves  make 
Thy  sinless  shroud,  for  God's  dear  sake  ; 
Or  to  the  flame  commit  thy  bloom  ; 
Or  lock  thee,  living,  in  the  tomb 
So  desolate  and  dark,  — 


78  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Before  thou  list  one  stolen  word 
Of  him  who  lures  thee  like  a  bird. 
He  wanders  with  the  Devil's  bait, 
For  human  souls  he  lies  in  wait, 

Who  hunts  so  late,  so  dark. 


STREET   YARN.  79 


STREET  YARN. 

Roses  caged  in  windows,  heighten 
Yonr  faint  blooms  to-day  ; 

Silks  and  sheeny  satins,  brighten  ; 
He  has  passed  this  way  ! 


Could  ye  keep  his  fleeting  presence 

Gone  beyond  recall, 
But  a  little  of  his  essence, 

I  would  have  you  all. 


Arabesque  so  quaint  and  shady. 

That  mightst  catch  his  eye 
To  adorn  a  stately  lady 

Ere  her  hour  went  by, 


80  LYRICS  OF  THE  STREET. 

Canst  assure  me  that  his  glancing 

Rested  on  thy  fold  ? 
Did  that  set  your  purples  dancing  ? 

Wake  the  sleepy  gold  ? 


Ye  neglected  apple-venders 
Mouldering  in  the  street, 

Did  he  curse  between  your  tenders, 
Spurning  with  his  feet? 


Then  must  I  an  alms  deliver 
For  his  graceless  pride  ; 

Could  I  buy  his  sins  forever, 
I'd  not  be  denied. 


Paying  patiently  his  ransom 
Never  conscience-pricked ; 

Cheating  Justice  of  her  handsome 
Heartless  derelict. 


STREET   YARN.  81 

Did  he  view  thee,  ancient  steeple, 

With  thy  weird  clock-face, 
Frowning  down  on  sinful  people 

Passing  out  of  grace  ? 

Nay,  respond  not  to  my  question 

With  thy  prate  of  time  : 
Things  to  which  my  soul  must  hasten 

Lie  beyond  thy  chime. 


With  no  circumstance  to  screen  us, 

We  must  meet  again  : 
I  shall  bid  God  judge  between  us, 

Answering  Amen. 


PARABLES. 


PARABLES.  85 


PARABLES. 
I. 

"  I  sent  a  child  of  mine  to-day  ; 

I  hope  you  used  him  well." 
"  Now,  Lord,  no  visitor  of  yours 

Has  waited  at  my  bell. 

The  children  of  the  Millionnaire 
Run  up  and  down  our  street ; 

I  glory  in  their  well-combed  hair, 
Their  dress  and  trim  complete. 

But  yours  would  in  a  chariot  come 
With  thorough-breds  so  gay  ; 

And  little  merry  maids  and  men 
To  cheer  him  on  his  way." 


86  PARABLES. 

"Stood,  then,  no  child  before  your  door? 

The  Lord,  persistent,  said. 
"  Only  a  ragged  beggar-boy, 

With  rough  and  frowzy  head. 

The  dirt  was  crusted  on  his  skin, 
His  muddy  feet  were  bare  ; 

The  cook  gave  victuals  from  within  ; 
I  cursed  his  coming  there." 

What  sorrow,  silvered  with  a  smile, 
Slides  o'er  the  face  divine? 

What  tenderest  whisper  thrills  rebuke  ? 
"  The  beggar-boy  was  mine  !  " 


PARABLES.  87 


n. 


Once,  where  men  of  high  pretension 

For  the  Lord  did  wait, 
Suffer  did  their  pride  declension  ; 

Angry  grew  their  state. 

One,  impatient,  snaps  his  fingers  ; 

One  torments  his  hair  ; 
One,  albeit  no  pride  of  singers, 

Hums  a  broken  air. 

Sitting  low  apart,  a  modest 

Maiden  waited  too  ; 
Little  weary  one,  thou  ploddest 

111  thy  week's  work  through  ! 

Comes  the  Lord.     From  long  abiding 

They  uprise  in  haste  ; 
With  their  greeting  mingles  chiding 

For  the  time  they  waste. 


88  PARABLES. 

"  Lord,  I  am  a  merchant  wealthy ; 

Commerce  holds  me  dear  ; 
Competition  enters  stealthy 

While  I  tarry  here." 

"  Lord,  for  me  recondite  dinners 

Chill  on  festive  boards  ; 
Waste  the  games,  and  haste  the  winners, 

While  I  wait  thy  words." 

To  this  folly  of  upbraiding 

Says  the  Master,  "  Yes  : 
You  have  waited  too,  my  maiden  ; 

Seek  yon  not  redress  ?  " 

''Waiting  is  such  holy  pleasure 

For  a  joy  most  dear  ; 
I  had  rapture  out  of  measure, 

Knowing  thou  wert  near." 


PARABLES.  89 


m. 


Beside  this  goodly  mansion's  gate 
I'll  pause,  and  rest  a  while  : 

Its  master  will  not  have  me  wait ; 
He  beckons  with  a  smile. 

"  Now,  friend,  what  might  your  errand  be? 

"Will  you  walk  in  for  charity  ?  " 

Thus  I  returned  him  :   "  Could  you  know 
The  treasures  in  my  pack, 

And  all  the  bravery  and  show 
I  carry  at  my  back, 

The  merchant's  pains  you  should  requite, 

Not  shame  him  with  the  beggar's  mite." 

"If  it  content  you,  open  out 

The  goods  you  praise  so  well." 

"  I've  turned  the  rolling  earth  about 
For  that  which  here  I  sell ; 

No  trumpery  for  the  servants'  hall : 

I  only  heed  the  master's  call. 


90  PARABLES. 

Behold  these  painful  broideries  rare, 
The  costliest  Fashion  knows  ; 

Such  as  the  chief  Sultanas  wear, 

Steeped  with  the  attar  rose." 

"  Your  shawl  is  faded,  patched,  and  poor 

It  pleases  not ;  show  something  more." 


"  This  crystal  phial,  art-embossed, 
A  balsam  doth  contain 

For  whose  delight  an  empire's  cost 
Were  scarcely  spent  in  vain." 

"  It  cannot  match  one  clover-bloom  : 

Bring  other  business,  — pass  perfume." 


"  Behold  this  weighty  carcanet, 

Whose  links  of  sullen  gold 

Would  seem  to  bind  the  Favorite  yet 
In  Love's  triumphant  hold." 

"  The  iron  rusts  through  these  gilded  chains, 

As  smiles  discover  torture-pains." 


PARABLES.  91 

"  Last,  then,  this  diamond,  with  a  light 

Kindled  'neath  tropic  skies  : 
A  slave  toiled  twenty  years  of  night, 

Bleeding,  to  win  this  prize." 
"  One  impulse  of  the  blood  you  name 
Would  put  your  Kohinoor  to  shame." 


"  Shall  your  encounter  make  me  poor, 
And  desolate  of  bread? 

If  all  my  wealth  beside  your  door 
Buys  not  a  pilgrim's  bed, 

At  the  next  inn  I'll  set  me  down, 

And  travel  to  the  market-town." 


"  Friend  !  "  said  the  Master,  "  coming  here, 
You  passed  an  unseen  bound  ; 

And  in  the  outer  region  drear 
No  hostelry  is  found. 

I  question  all  who  pass  this  way, 

And  grant  them  leave  to  go  or  stay. 


92  PARABLES. 

But  in  my  mansion,  too,  is  wealth 

Of  garments  glad  and  white  : 

My  chains  are  helpful  bonds  of  health  ; 
My  jewels,  heart's  delight ; 

My  perfumes  waste  no  joy  divine  : 

Enter  :  for  all  I  have  is  thine. 


PARABLES.  93 


IV. 


Lord  of  life,  why  must  thou  seek  me 

In  this  desert  wild  ? 
Why  so  tenderly  bespeak  me, 

Fallen  and  sin-defiled? 

Should  thy  feet,  so  fair  and  glorious, 

That  in  heaven's  ways  go, 
Tread  the  stony  paths  laborious 

That  the  wicked  know? 

In  abysses  darkly  yawning, 

Where  the  lost  are  pent, 
Shouldst  thou  spread  the  purple  awning 

Of  thy  sheltering  tent  ? 

See  !  the  hell-flames  gather  round  thee, 

Raging  for  thy  life  : 
Tongues  of  thief  and  ribald  wound  thee 

Worse  than  spear  or  knife. 


94  PARABLES. 

Oh  !  of  all  my  deeds  abhorred 
Is  not  this  the  worst, 

Fronting  thine  anointed  forehead 
With  this  woe  accurst? 


Angels,  bear  him  without  rudeness 

To  the  breath  of  morn, 
Veiling  with  your  crowns  the  voidness 

Where  his  brow  is  shorD. 


Use  no  whisper  of  the  evil 
That  his  hand  hath  done, 

Lest  a  saint  become  a  devil 
Torturing  such  an  one. 


And  that  wound,  whose  deadly  feeling 

Makes  the  bosom  faint, 
Reconcile  with  swift  annealing, 

Purge  from  mortal  taint. 


PARABLES.  95 


Call  a  feast  of  stately  measure 

With  a  solemn  joy, 
With  all  courtesy  and  pleasure 

To  him  sitting  by. 


Gather  up  his  long-lost  kindred. 

Angered  and  estranged ; 
For  each  good  gift  bring  an  hundred, 

Since  his  heart  is  changed. 


Bind  the  robe  upon  his  shoulder, 

On  his  hand  the  ring  ; 
Since,  while  Love  is  treasure-holder, 

Sorrow  must  be  king. 


HER  VERSES :  A  LYRICAL  ROMANCE. 


97 


THE  LEGACY.  99 


THE   LEGACY. 

Her  verses,  — where  she  lies 
The  tall  trees  bend  and  whisper ; 
Soft  voices  from  the  skies 
Recall  the  tuneful  lisper  : 
The  sunny  nooks  she  loved, 
Her  flower-beds  untended, 
Afflict  us  with  neglect, 
Like  fair  things  ill-befriended. 

Yet  'tis  so  merciful 
That  Time  wipes  out  our  traces. 
And  that  the  thick-set  moss 
Grows  o'er  our  darkened  faces^ 
Till  but  some  faithful  heart 
Our  faded  traits  comprises, 
And  sorrow,  dead  in  earth, 
In  harmless  beauty  rises. 


100  HER    VERSES. 

She  had  a  guileless  heart, 
And  Life  was  rude  to  grieve  it ; 
She  had  a  soul  of  fire, 
And  Heaven  is  kind  to  shrive  it : 
The  years  are  past  that  said, 
"  Keep  long  this  seal  unbroken  ; 
But,  when  my  name's  forgot, 
Then  let  my  words  be  spoken." 

So,  standing  at  her  grave, 
With  trembling  hands  I  gather 
The  blossoms  of  her  life, 
Bedimmed  with  rust  and  weather. 
O  World  !  while  thus  I  wave 
Her  dead  hand's  blessing  o'er  thee, 
Think  'tis  my  other  self 
Whose  heart  lies  bare  before  thee. 


BLUSHES.  101 


BLUSHES. 

I  caxnot  make  him  know  my  love  ; 

Nor  from  myself  conceal 
The  pangs  that  rankle  in  my  breast, 

Sharper  than  flame  or  steel. 

Could  I  but  reach  a  hand  to  him, 

My  very  finger's  thrill 
Would  close,  like  tendrils,  round  the  strength 

Of  his  beloved  will. 

Could  I  but  lift  mine  eyes  to  his, 

My  glowing  soul,  unrolled, 
"Would  flash  like  sunset  on  his  sight. 

In  fiery  red  and  gold. 


102  HER    VERSES. 

Yet  pause,  my  unflecked  soul,  and  think 

How  vexed  Penelope 
Forsook  her  nuptial  joy,  that  love 

Should  wait  on  modesty. 

For  gentle  souls  must  keep  their  bounds, 
Nor  rudely  snatch  at  bliss  : 

The  very  sun  should  lose  his  light 
In  giving  it  amiss. 

So,  when  I  die,  cross  tenderly 
My  palms  upon  my  breast, 

And  let  some  faithful  hand  compose 
My  tired  limbs  to  rest. 

But  thou  shalt  fold  this  kerchief  white, 

And  lay  it  on  my  face, 
Saying,  "  She  died  of  love  untold  ; 

But  she  is  dead  in  grace." 


WISHES.  103 


WISHES. 

I  would  I  might  approach  thee, 

As  the  moon  draws  near  the  cloud, 
With  still  and  stately  courtesy, 

Clear-eyed  and  solemn-browed ; 
But,  when  their  meeting  comes,  her  face 

In  his  deep  breast  doth  hide, 
The  heavens  are  still,  in  solemn  joy, 

The  world  is  glorified. 

I  would  I  might  approach  thee, 

As  music,  swift  afloat, 
Surprises,  with  its  sudden  joy, 

A  wanderer  in  a  boat : 


104  HER    VERSES. 

The  sordid  walls  of  life  fall  down 
Before  that  clarion  clear  ; 

A  passing  rapture  oft  recalled 

When  days  grow  blank  and  drear. 

I  would  I  might  approach  thee, 

As  breezes  fresh  and  pure, 
Unsighted,  breathe  on  fevered  lips, 

And  throbbing  temples  cure  ; 
As  Joy  and  Love,  and  healthful  Hope, 

Visit  some  chosen  heart, 
And  enter,  softly  welcomed  there, 

And  never  more  depart. 


FEARS.  105 


FEARS. 

Oh  !  how  shall  I  grow  fair  enough 

For  thee  to  look  upon  ? 
I  am  but  the  poor  shallow  water 

That  glistens  in  the  sun, 
That  darkens,  mean  and  beautiless, 

When  his  brief  glance  moves  on. 

Oh  !  what  shall  raise  me  to  thy  sphere  ? 

How  shall  my  thoughts  aspire  ? 
I  am  the  string  that  warbles  to 

A  poet's  touch  of  fire  : 
He  flings  it  by,  —  how  dumb  and  low 

Sinks  the  forgotten  lyre  ! 


106  HER   VERSES. 

Remember,  then,  my  humble  heart 
That  trembled  with  surprise  ; 

Recall  the  faith  that  dared  to  meet 
The  question  of  thine  eyes  : 

Shall  these  not  make  me  dear  to  thee 
Through  Love's  eternities? 


RESOLVES.  107 


RESOLVES. 

You  never  knew  how  cruel  kind 
Was  the  caress  you  gave  ; 

You  never  meant  to  light  a  flame 
Should  smoulder  in  my  grave. 

From  gentle  studies,  arts  beloved, 
My  thoughts  all  fix  on  thee  ; 

And  Peace  dissolves  before  my  sight, 
And  Duty  cannot  be. 

Oh  !  speak  one  word  so  kindly  rude, 
So  greatly  stern  and  true, 

That  I  may  kiss  thy  feet  for  shame, 
And  rise,  absolved  and  new. 


108  HER    VERSES. 

Then  with  some  song  of  noblest  worth 
I'll  pay  this  truant  rhyme, 

And  stretch  my  stolen  broidery  to 
The  boundless  tasks  of  Time. 


STUDIES.  109 


STUDIES. 

Slowly  roll  the  wheels  of  Science 
On  the  flowery  ways  of  Love  : 
Clogged  with  sweets,  the  cheated  pedant 
Waits,  forgetful  of  remove. 

Or  like  learns  aspiring 
To  the  nearness  of  the  sun  ; 
See,  the  waxen  wings  are  melted, 
The  ambitious  race  is  run  ! 

Love  has  neither  past  nor  future 
Till  thou  break  its  awful  vow  ; 
Neither  was  nor  shall  be  blessed  : 
It  is  one  eternal  Now. 


110  HER    VERSES 


LATIN. 

Here  amid  shadows,  lovingly  embracing, 
Dropt  from  above  by  apple-trees  unfruitful, 
With  a  chance  scholar,  caught  and  held  to  help  me, 
Read  I  in  Horace  ; 


Lost  in  the  figures,  lawless  in  the  metrum, 
Piecing  the  classic  phrase  with  homespun  English, 
Bridging  doubtful  meanings  with  such  daring  fictions 
As  move  his  wonder. 


Dust  lay  condensed  on  the  covers  lexiconic,  — 
Tacitus  above  stairs,  quasi  sub-neglected, 
Very  little  progress  since  I  saw  your  godship, 
Day  to  be  remembered  ! 


LATIN.  Ill 

Ave,  sweet  Horace,  all  thy  wonder  graces 
(Soul  of  perfection,  with  a  change  of  rainbows) 
Less  must  delight  me  than  thy  fervent  nature, 
Foremost  in  friendship. 


"  We  with  one  bound  will  pursue  the  silent  journey : 
Ibimus,  ibimus,  —  let  one  urn  contain  us  !  " 
Which  would  survive,  to  choke  Love's  glowing  embers 
With  Life's  gray  ashes  ? 


Happy  thy  Maecenas  !  happier  thou  to  praise  him, 
Twining  thy  best  beauties  round  the  brow  thou  lovest : 
Oh  !  to  nobly  name  whom  the  deep  heart  doth  worship 
Is  a  boon  most  holy. 


Yonder  by  the  high-road,  from  the  post-town  leading, 
Cometh  at  seasons  a  worn  and  dusty  carriage  : 
Two  white  bony  horses,  rudely  loricated, 
Dras  it  behind  them. 


112  HER    VERSES. 

In  the  carriage  mostly  come  my  born  relations, 
Very  keen  to  see  me  in  the  rural  season ; 
Board  and  bedding  gratis,  compliments  at  parting : 
"  Come  again  next  summer." 

Oh  !  if  one  I  knew  of  hastened  down  the  high-road, 
Like  a  heaven-sent  angel,  present  to  petition, 
Would  I  sit  searching  thy  disjointed  meanings, 
Horace  the  Dainty  ? 

Should  I  not  then  fling  far  the  well-bound  volume, 
Decent  in  sheep-skins  thou  wert  never  blest  with  ? 
For  this  heart  of  mine,  high  leaping,  wild  rejoicing, 
Then  would  be  the  poet. 


A  DREAM.  113 


A  DREAM. 

A  woman  came,  wearing  a  veil ; 
Her  features  were  burning  and  pale  ; 
At  the  door  of  the  shrine  doth  she  kneel, 
And  waileth  out,  bowing  her  head, 
"  Ye  men  of  remembrance  and  dread, 
Exorcise  the  pangs  that  I  feel. 

A  boat  that  is  torn  with  the  tide, 
A  mountain  with  flame  in  its  side 
That  rends  its  devouring  way, 
A  feather  the  whirlwind  lifts  high, 
Are  not  wilder  or  weaker  than  I, 
Since  Love  makes  my  bosom  his  prey. 


114  HER   VERSES. 

Ye  Saints,  I  fall  down  at  your  feet : 
Thou  Virgin,  so  piteous  to  greet, 
Reach  hither  the  calm  of  your  hands  ; 
Ye  statues  of  power  and  of  art, 
Let  your  marble  weight  lie  on  my  heart, 
Hold  my  madness  with  merciful  bands." 


The  priest  takes  his  candle  and  book 
With  the  pity  of  scorn  in  his  look, 
And  chants  the  dull  Mass  through  his  teeth 
But  the  penitent,  clasping  his  knees, 
Cries,  "  Vain  as  the  sough  of  the  breeze 
Are  thy  words  to  the  anguish  of  death." 


The  priest,  with  reproval  and  frown, 
Bids  the  listless  attendant  reach  down 
The  water  that  sprinkles  from  sin. 
"  Your  water  is  water,"  she  cries : 
"  The  further  its  foolishness  flies, 
The  fiercer  the  flames  burn  within." 


A  DREAM.  115 

"  Get  thee  hence  to  the  cell  and  the  scourge  !  " 
The  priest  in  his  anger  doth  urge, 
"  Or  the  fire  of  the  stake  thou  shalt  prove, 
Maintaining  with  blasphemous  tongue 
That  the  mass-book  and  censer,  high  swung, 
Cannot  cast  out  the  demon  of  Love." 


Then  the  Highest  stept  down  from  his  place, 

While  the  depths  of  his  wonderful  face 

The  thrill  of  compassion  did  move  : 

"  Come,  hide  thee,"  he  cried,  "  in  this  breast ; 

I  summon  the  weary  to  rest ; 

With  love  I  exorcise  thv  love." 


116  HER   VERSES. 


WAKING. 

Soft  as  the  touch  of  twilight  that  restores 
The  hard-bound  earth  from  summer  sweat  and  strain, 
This  dream  of  morning  soothed  my  fevered  soul, 
And  gave  me  to  my  gentleness  again. 

So,  bathed  in  pearly  sweets,  I  oped  mine  eyes, 
And  saw  the  beauty  that  the  morning  paints, 
And  saw  the  shadows  strengthen  in  the  sun 
With  the  calm  willingness  of  dying  saints. 

Oh  !  had  I  then  to  passion  died,  such  peace 
Had  filled  my  parting  as  transfigures  Death  ; 
But  thou  didst  turn  me  backward  with  a  word, 
And  Love  celestial  fled  Love's  human  breath. 


THE  SUMMONS.  117 


THE   SUMMONS. 

I  expect  you  in  September 
With  the  glory  of  the  year  : 
You  shall  make  the  Autumn  precious, 
And  the  death  of  Summer  dear ; 
You  shall  help  the  days  that  shorten, 
With  a  lengthening  of  delight  ; 
You  shall  whisper  long-drawn  blisses 
Through  the  gathering  screen  of  night. 

I  will  lead  you,  dream-enchanted, 
Where  the  fairest  grasses  grow  ; 
I  will  hear  your  murmured  music 
Where  the  fresh  winds  pipe  and  blow. 
On  the  brown  heath,  weird-encircled, 
Shall  our  noiseless  footsteps  fall,  — 
We,  communing  with  twin  counsel. 
Each  to  other  all  in  all. 


118  HER   VERSES. 

Leave  the  titles  that  men  owe  thee  ; 
Like  the  first  pair  let  us  meet ; 
Name  the  world  all  over  to  me, 
New-created  at  thy  feet ; 
Gentle  task  and  duteous  learning, 
I  will  hang  upon  thy  breath 
With  the  tender  zeal  of  childhood, 
With  the  constancy  of  death. 

What  shall  be  the  gods  declare  not,  — 
They  who  stamp  Love's  burning  coin 
Into  spangles  of  a  moment, 
Into  stars  that  deathless  shine. 
Oh  !  the  foolish  music  lingers  ; 
For  the  theme  is  heavenly  dear : 
I  expect  you  in  September, 
With  the  glories  of  the  year. 


WAITING.  119 


WAITING. 

I  have  set  my  house  in  order 

For  a  stately  step  to  grace  ; 

I  have  bidden  the  mirrors  keep  record 

Of  a  never-forgotten  face  ; 

I  have  brightened  with  thrifty  cunning 

The  walls  of  my  sylvan  home  : 

They  are  beautiful  in  the  shadow 

Of  him  who  vouchsafes  to  come. 

I  have  swept  the  leaves  from  the  greensward, 

And  the  gray  stones  twinkle  and  shine  ; 

I  have  loosened  each  fretful  tangle 

Of  the  twisted  cedar  and  vine  ; 

I  have  ordered  the  waters  waste  not 

Their  splendors  upon  mine  eye, 

But  to  wait,  like  my  heart,  for  thy  footsteps, 

And  gush  when  thou  drawest  nigh. 


120  HER    VERSES. 

Myself  I  would  dress  for  thy  presence  ; 
But  there  I  must  stand  and  weep, 
Since  the  years  that  teach  Love's  value 
His  vanishing  treasure  sweep. 
But  words  that  are  spells  of  magic, 
And  merciful  looks  and  ways, 
Shall  brighten  the  rusted  features 
That  faded  when  none  did  praise. 

Thou  gracious  and  lordly  creature, 

Do  the  trees,  when  thou  passest  by, 

Let  down  their  fair  arms  to  enlace  thee, 

And  the  flowers  reach  up  to  thine  eye  ? 

Do  they  wait,  all  athrill,  when  thou  passest, 

For  a  touch  of  thy  life  divine  ? 

Do  they  fold  their  meek  hands  when  thou  fleetest, 

And  die  for  a  breath  of  thine  ? 

My  heart  has  leapt  forth  to  embrace  thee ; 
It  clings,  like  a  babe,  to  thy  breast ; 
And  my  blood  is  a  storm-stirred  ocean 
That  waits  for  the  word  of  rest. 


WAITING.  121 

Time  loses  his  paltry  measure 
Now  that  Love's  eterne  draws  near, 
And  the  lingering  moments  that  part  us 
Are  endless  in  hope  and  fear. 

Oh  !  what  if,  beyond  thy  sunshine, 
Some  gathering  storm  should  brood  ? 
Thy  rapture,  forsaking,  shall  leave  me 
Alone  with  God's  orphanhood. 
The  heart  thou  hast  blest  so  inly 
Shall  wait  do  inglorious  breath  : 
Come  hither,  then,  ye  who  walk  twinly ; 
So  enter  here,  Love  and  Death  ! 


122  HER    VERSES. 


THE   END. 

Death  entered  where  Love  was  waiting 
With  the  frosted  lily-crown,  — 
Pale  pontiff,  shadow-mating, 
Waving  the  life-flame  down. 

His  slaves,  with  robes  of  whiteness, 
Shrouded  the  glowing  face  : 
Gone  is  the  vision  of  brightness, 
A  ghost  is  in  its  place. 

They  bore  her  with  solemn  knelling, 
By  saintly  crypt  and  nave, 
To  her  new-appointed  dwelling,  — 
The  cloisters  of  the  grave. 


THE  END.  123 

There,  'mong  the  silent  sisters, 
She  tarries,  with  folded  palms  : 
Where  the  passing  torch-light  glisters, 
The}7  answer  in  whispered  psalms. 

But  as  one  the  convent  hideth, 
At  the  festivals  of  God, 
From  the  covert  where  she  bideth, 
Sends  holy  song  abroad  ; 

So  she,  whom  then  we  buried 
\Tiih  manifold  sob  and  strain, 
Sends  back  her  song,  love-varied, 
To  waken  our  joy  again,  — 

Sends  back  the  flame  of  fervor 
That  warms  not  her  frozen  breast, 
To  guide  Love's  true  deserver 
To  her  place  in  the  fields  of  rest. 


POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


125 


TO   THE   CRITIC.  127 


TO   THE   CRITIC. 

Of  all  my  verses,  say  that  one  is  good, 

So  shalt  thou  give  more  praise  than  Hope  might  claim  ; 

And  from  my  poet-grave,  to  vex  thy  soul, 

No  ghost  shall  rise,  whose  deeds  demand  a  name. 

A  thousand  loves,  and  only  one  shall  stand 
To  show  us  what  its  counterfeits  should  be  ; 
The  blossoms  of  a  spring-tide,  and  but  one 
Bears  the  world's  fruit,  —  the  seed  of  History. 

A  thousand  rhymes  shall  pass,  and  only  one 
Show,  crystal-shod,  the  Muse's  twinkling  feet ; 
A  thousand  pearls  the  haughty  Ethiop  spurned 
Ere  one  could  make  her  luxury  complete. 


128       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

In  goodliest  palaces,  some  meanest  room 
The  owner's  smallness  shields  contentedly. 
Nay,  further  :   of  the  manifold  we  are, 
But  one  pin's  point  shall  pass  eternity. 

Exalt,  then,  to  the  greatness  of  the  throne 
One  only  of  these  beggarlings  of  mine ; 
I  with  the  rest  will  dwell  in  modest  bounds 
The  chosen  one  shall  glorify  the  line. 


PHILOSOPHY.  129 


PHILOSOPHY. 

Naked  and  poor  thou  goest,  Philosophy  ! 
Thy  robe  of  serge  hath  lain  beneath  the  stars  ; 
Thy  weight  of  tresses,  ponderously  free, 
Of  iron  hue,  no  golden  circlet  bars. 

Thy  pale  page,  Study,  by  thy  side  doth  hold. 
As  by  Cyprigna's  her  persuasive  boy : 
Twin  sacks  thou  bear'st ;  one  doth  thy  gifts  infold, 
Whose  modest  tendering  proves  immortal  joy. 

The  other  at  thy  patient  back  doth  hang 
To  keep  the  boons  thou'rt  wonted  to  receive  : 
Reproof  therein  doth  hide  her  venomed  fang, 
And  hard  barbaric  arts,  that  mock  and  grieve. 
9 


130       POEMS  OF  STUDY  'AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Here  is  a  stab,  and  here  a  mortal  thrust ; 
Here  galley  service  brought  the  age  to  loss  ; 
Here  lies  thy  virgin  forehead  rolled  in  dust 
Beside  the  martyr  stake  or  hero  cross. 

They  who  besmirched  thy  whiteness  with  their  pitch, 

Thy  gallery  of  glories  did  complete  ; 

They  who  accepted  of  thee  so  grew  rich, 

Men  could  not  count  their  treasures  in  the  street. 

Thy  hollow  cheek,  and  eye  of  distant  light, 

Won  from  the  chief  of  men  their  noblest  love  ; 

i 

Olympian  feasts  thy  temperance  requite, 
And  thy  worn  weeds  a  priceless  dowry  prove. 

I  know  not  if  I've  caught  the  matchless  mood 
In  which  impassioned  Petrarch  sang  of  thee  ; 
But  this  I  know,  —  the  world  its  plenitude 
May  keep,  so  I  may  share  thy  beggary. 


EOSMOS.  131 


KOSMOS. 

Of  dust  the  primal  Adam  came 
In  wondrous  sequency  evolved, 
With  speech  that  gave  creation  name, 
Of  art  and  artist  never  solved. 

With  something  of  a  mother-pang 
The  Sun  conceived  the  starry  spheres 
That  from  her  burning  bosom  sprang,  — 
Immortal  children  of  her  tears. 

From  height  of  heat,  and  stress  of  span, 
The  measured  Earth  took  poise  and  hold 
And  beasts,  the  prophecy  of  man, 
And  man,  were  latent  in  her  mould. 


/ 


132       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

And  bid  in  man  a  world  intense, 
The  centre  point  of  things  that  be, 
With  soul  that  conquers  out  of  sense 
Its  incomplete  divinity. 

Around  one  infinite  intent 
All  power  and  inspiration  move, 
Thrilling  with  light  the  firmament, 
Lifting  the  heart  of  man  with  love. 


FIRST  CAUSES.  133 


FIRST  CAUSES. 

"  We  need  no  God,"  the  Atheist  said  ; 
"  The  World  is  wound,  and  set  to  go  : 
How  it  was  wound  we  do  now  know  ; 
But  go  it  will  when  we  are  dead. 

You  question  me  as  one  who  pleads 
To  keep  his  ancient  faith  with  tears  : 
In  this  our  harmlessness  appears, — 
We  rob  no  nature  of  its  needs. 

The  weak,  for  whom  a  God  must  be. 
Will  hold  the  apt  invention  still, 
While  from  the  arbitrary  will 
We  and  the  hardier  souls  are  free." 


134        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Like  one  who  in  the  dark  would  walk 
"Where  men  by  day  securely  tread, 
And  stumbles  with  uneasy  dread, 
The  Atheist  blundered  in  his  talk. 

Now  from  my  window  I  survey 

This  amphitheatre  of  peace, 

Where  moon  and  stars,  without  surcease, 

Nightly  present  their  heavenly  play. 

I  see  the  beauteous  drama  wrought ; 
Its  acts  and  interludes  I  trace  : 
I  need  not  seek  the  Author's  face, 
Whose  spirit  visits  me  unsought. 

And  what  that  need,  both  old  and  new, 
The  eternal  need  of  human-kind  ? 
Not  that  we  keep  a  fable  blind : 
It  is  that  thou,  dear  God,  be  true. 


THE  CHRIST.  135 


THE   CHRIST. 

No  idle  superstition  made  him  ; 
Nor  canst  thou,  Critic,  him  unmake  ; 
No  sect  upreared  his  holy  stature, 
Beloved  for  its  divineness'  sake. 

Wipe  rudely  out  the  glowing  picture  ; 
Leave  but  thy  blank  for  man  to  read  ; 
Write  nothingness  where'er  it  please  thee  ; 
Take,  as  I  fling  them,  creed  for  creed  : 

What  hast  thou  then?  thine  own  dominion, 
The  empire  that  thy  nature  craves  ; 
Crown  thee  a  tyrant  of  opinion, 
With  disbelievers  for  thy  slaves. 


136       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

He  grew  not  great  by  priestly  cunning, 
Nor  magic  gifts,  nor  Eastern  arts  : 
Immortal  love  sprang  up  to  honor 
The  fair  ideal  of  our  hearts. 

As  from  some  dreamer's  inspiration 
Each  noble  school  of  Science  grew, 
And  rules  that  help  the  striving  many 
Were  moulded  from  the  gifted  few ; 


So,  from  his  life  and  thoughts  transcendent, 
Flashed  light  that  ages  cannot  dim  : 
Blind  Faith  and  Feeling  were  before  him 


5 

Religion  followed  after  him. 


THE   CHURCH.  137 


THE   CHURCH. 

I  heard  one  say  in  sunny  travel, 
A  braggart  Frenchman,  rude  and  vain, 
He  and  his  mates  would  mine  St.  Peter's, 
And  blast  it  with  a  powder-train. 

I  saw  in  thought  the  mighty  ruin, 

The  wealth  of  Art  and  Record  gone  ; 

The  unfading  pictures  wrenched  and  shattered  ; 

The  arches,  music-knit,  o'erthrown. 

I  thought  how  piteous  Contadini 
Would  miss  that  genial  mother-hearth  ; 
How,  from  the  falling  water-vases, 
The  marble  doves  would  flutter  forth. 


138       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Then,  from  the  ghastly  vision  turning, 

Mine  eye  the  silly  Celt  did  reach : 

I  said,  and  every  heart  responded, 

"  Now,  never  more  with  me  hold  speech." 


So  thou,  whose  ill-conditioned  learning 
Would  shake  the  aisles  where  Faith  abides  ; 
Where,  from  the  vulgar  world  out-driven, 
Devotion,  crowned  of  ages,  hides,  — 


Wield  cautiously  the  crushing  mallet : 
Not  Peter's  door  alone  you  break  ; 
But,  of  the  temple  of  our  sires, 
A  weltering  heap  of  dust  you  make. 


These  aisles  were  built  with  holy  living, 
These  stones  were  piled  with  thought  and  prayer 
The  world  before  us  gave  the  pattern, 
The  world  that  follows  is  the  heir ; 


THE   CHURCH.  139 

And  hearts  are  set,  like  gems  incrusted, 
In  the  fair  walls  ;  and,  ruby-red, 
The  blood  of  martyrdom  doth  stain  them, 
And  tears  more  terrible  to  shed. 


So,  build  thy  dome  in  airy  heaven 
A  shelter  for  new  hope  and  joy, 
And  write  thereon  the  Master-sentence, 
"  Come  to  deliver,  not  destroy." 


140       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


THE   CRUCIFIX. 

In  desolations  of  my  own 
I  see  a  figure  lifted  lone, 
Stript,  and  extended  felon-wise, 
That  yields  not  to  the  solvent  skies. 

Mother  and  friends  are  stolen  away ; 
Fails,  too,  the  cordial  light  of  day ; 
And  Darkness,  and  the  deep  Divine, 
Their  counsels  mystical  intwine. 

The  greatest  distance  cannot  hide, 
Nor  Time,  more  potent  to  divide  : 
Touch  but  the  golden  bond  of  prayer, 
He  and  his  agony  are  there. 


THE  CRUCIFIX.  141 

The  Angel,  with  the  nod  of  Fate, 
Unsmiling  and  compassionate, 
From  Life's  rude  banquet  beckoneth 
To  front  us  with  that  crowned  death. 

So  silent,  yet  he  stirs  our  veins 
To  madden  for  heroic  pains  ; 
So  passive,  turning  human-kind, 
Leagued  with  omnipotence  of  mind. 

Uplifting  all  our  weight  of  woe. 
Bringing  the  vaulted  heavens  low, 
Remembered  as  the  immortal  One 
TYIlo  was,  and  willed  to  be,  their  Son. 


142        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


KENYON'S   LEGACY. 

Good  Johnny  Kenyon's  gone  and  done 
The  best  thing  with  his  money  : 

He's  left  it  for  two  Poet-Bees, 

Who  make  the  wasp-world  honey. 


Unthrifty  work,  —  a  world  has  wants, 
A  market-man  provides  it ; 

Small  wages  has  the  working  bee, 
Or  the  good  God  who  guides  it. 


But  Kenyon  knew  the  market-men, 
And  so  bestowed  his  money, 

That  our  two  rifled  Bees  might  live 
From  henceforth  on  their  honey. 


I_  Ci-J.  :-iiii.  ~--^  ---v   i~-- 

: 

I:-:  tt--:-.:::  :.: 
7;:  ±i- 


'.  ■ 

Ami  wwa&t  mdft-n^rfrti  J 


-       ;  -      - 

V 


Tie  '^--<:-  '.:_; 


144       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

John  Kenyon  was  an  Englishman, 

And  understood  the  duty- 
England  expects  from  English  wives, 

Who  stand  for  thrift  and  beauty. 


He  did  not  score  it  in  his  will, 
For  that  had  been  ungracious  ; 

He  told  it  not  by  word  of  mouth, 
Dependence  thrice  fallacious. 


"  'Tis  in  the  fitness  of  the  thing, 
And  they,  be  sure,  will  feel  it ; 

Or  else  some  medial-rapping  friend' 
For  sixpence  may  reveal  it. 


Aurora  !  dry  your  pen  at  night ; 

Repose  shall  help  your  dreaming  ; 
Enjoy  your  victuals  from  this  hour, 

And  keep  your  tea-pot  steaming." 


EENYON'S  LEGACY.  145 

Like  those  long-exiled  Empire-bees, 

Who  now,  to  fortune  coming, 
Poise  on  the  topmost  bough,  and  fill 

Your  Europe  with  their  humming ; 


So  may  you,  gold-emblazoned,  rest 
On  velvet  pall  and  mantle, 

Or  where  luxurious  drapings  hide 
Time's  monitors  ungentle. 


Or  better, build  a  crystal  hive, 
With  this  remembrance  sunny  : 

"  One  good  man  helps  the  bankrupt  world 
To  pay  our  priceless  honey." 


10 


146       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


TO   ONE  WHO  LIES   IN  FLORENCE. 

Shower  lilies  from  the  skies 
Where  our  lovely  Ladye  lies  ! 
Birds  of  more  than  mortal  time, 
Soothe  her  rest  by  night  and  noon  ; 
Angel  loves  be  softly  told 
O'er  her  consecrated  mould  ; 
Hearts  that  noblest  strive  and  mean 
At  her  shrine  their  comforts  glean. 

Neither  may  the  sun  despise 
To  salute  her  where  she  lies, 
Nodding  over  -woods  and  water 
To  Apollo's  crowned  daughter, 


TO   ONE   WHO  LIES  IN  FLORENCE.  147 

Christian  Sappho  she,  whose  verse 
Holy  loving  souls  rehearse 
That  a  benediction  seek 
Pontiffs  have  not  grace  to  speak  ; 

For  her  bosom  temple  sweet 
Charity  did  make  complete  ; 
Human  passions  lost  their  pride 
Ranged  before  the  gentle-eyed  ; 
Sword  of  meekness  pierceth  deep, 
Bitterest  chide  the  eyes  that  weep  ; 
And  her  anger  humbled  most 
Through  her  pity,  never  lost. 

Sister,  whose  fair  lot  is  cast 
Where  the  shadows  of  the  past 
And  the  sunshine  of  to-day 
Interlace  on  God's  highway, 
Xone  of  all  thy  joys  I'd  ask, 
Harnessed  gladly  to  my  task, 
But  the  parting  kiss  she  gave, 
And  the  pause  beside  her  grave. 


148       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Scatter  lilies  from  the  skies, 
Shower  tears  from  angels'  eyes, 
Who  forget  not  that  their  joy 
Our  contentment  doth  destroy. 
Nought  of  earth  so  good  and  fair 
That  beside  her  may  compare  ; 
Nought  of  heaven  too  purely  blest 
To  infold  her  sinless  rest ! 


THE  PRICE  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA.   149 


THE   PRICE   OF   THE   DIVINA  COMMEDIA. 

Give,  —  you  need  not  see  the  face, 
But  the  garment  hangeth  bare  ; 
And  the  hand  is  gaunt  and  spare 
That  enforces  Christian  grace. 


Many  ages  will  not  bring 
Such  a  point  as  this  to  sight, 
That  the  world  should  so  requite 
Master  heart  and  matchless  string:. 


Wonder  at  the  well-born  feet 
Fretting  in  the  flinty  road. 
Hath  this  virtue  no  abode  ? 
Hath  this  sorrow  no  retreat  ? 


150       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

See,  beneath  the  hood  of  grief, 
Muffled  bays  engird  the  brow. 
Fame  shall  yield  her  topmost  bough 
Ere  that  laurel  moult  a  leaf. 


Give  :  it  is  no  idle  hand 
That  extends  an  asking  palm, 
Tracing  yet  the  loftiest  psalm 
By  the  heart  of  Nature  spanned. 


In  the  antechamber  long 
Did  he  patient  hearing  crave  : 
Smiles  and  splendors  crown  the  slave, 
While  the  patriot  suffers  wrong. 


Could  the  mighty  audience  deign, 
Meeting  once  the  inspired  gaze, 
They  should  ransom  all  their  days 
With  the  beauty  of  his  strain. 


THE  PRICE  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA.    151 

With  a  spasm  in  his  breast, 
"With  a  consummate  love  alone, 
All  his  human  blessings  gone, 
Doth  he  wander,  void  of  rest. 


Not  a  coin  within  his  purse, 
Not  a  crust  to  help  his  way, 
Making  yet  a  Judgment  Day 
With  his  power  to  bless  and  curse. 


Give  ;  but  ask  what  he  has  given 
That  Posterity  shall  tell,  — 
All  the  majesty  of  Hell ; 
Half  the  ecstasy  of  Heaven. 


152       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A  NEW   SCULPTOR. 

Once  to  my  Fancy's  hall  a  stranger  came, 

Of  mien  unwonted ; 
And  its  pale  shapes  of  glory  without  shame 

Or  speech  confronted. 


Fair  was  my  hall,  —  a  gallery  of  gods 

Smoothly  appointed, 
With  nymphs  and  satyrs  from  the  dewy  sods 

Freshly  anointed. 


Great  Jove  sat  throned  in  state,  with  Hermes  near, 

And  fiery  Bacchus, 
Pallas  and  Pluto,  and  those  powers  of  fear 

Whose  visions  rack  us. 


A  NEW  SCULPTOR.  153 

Artemis  wore  her  crescent  free  of  stars, 

The  hunt  just  scented  ; 
Glad  Aphrodite  met  the  warrior  Mars, 

The  myriad-tented. 


Rude  was  my  visitant,  of  sturdy  form, 

Draped  in  such  clothing 
As  the  world's  great,  whom  luxury  makes  warm, 

Look  on  with  loathing. 


And  yet  methought  his  service-badge  of  soil 
With  honor  wearing, 


A  hammer  bearing. 


But  while  I  waited  till  his  eye  should  sink, 

O'ercome  with  beauty. 
With  heart-impatience  brimming  to  the  brink 

Of  courteous  duty, 


154       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND   EXPERIENCE, 

He  smote  my  marbles  many  a  murderous  blow, 

His  weapon  poising ; 
I,  in  my  wrath  and  wonderment  of  woe, 

No  comment  voicing. 


"Come,  sweep  this  rubbish  from  the  workman's  way, 

Wreck  of  past  ages  ! 
Afford  me  here  a  lump  of  harmless  clay, 

Ye  grooms  and  pages  !  " 


Then  from  that  voidness  of  our  mother-earth 

A  frame  he  builded, 
Of  a  new  feature,  with  the  power  of  birth 

Fashioned  and  welded. 


It  had  a  might  mine  eyes  had  never  seen,  — 

A  mien,  a  stature, 
As  if  the  centuries  that  rolled  between 

Had  greatened  Nature. 


A  NEW  SCULPTOR.  155 

It  breathed,  it  moved  ;  above  Jove's  classic  sway 

A  place  was  won  it : 
The  rustic  sculptor  motioned  ;  then  "  To-day" 

He  wrote  upon  it. 


"  What  man  art  thou  ?"  I  cried,  "  and  what  this  wrong 

That  thou  hast  wrought  me  ? 
My  marbles  lived  on  symmetry  and  song : 

Why  hast  thou  brought  me 


A  form  of  all  necessities,  that  asks 

Nurture  and  feeding? 
Not  this  the  burthen  of  my  maidhood's  tasks, 

Nor  my  high  breeding." 


" Behold,"  he  said,  "Life's  great  impersonate, 

Nourished  by  labor  ! 
Thy  gods  are  gone  with  old-time  faith  and  fate 

Here  is  thy  Neighbor." 


156       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A  VICTIM   OF  TIBERIUS. 

What  wouldst  thou  with  me,  jailer  dark  and  grim? 
My  father  was  Sejanus  :   this  his  house, 
From  which  they  took  him  darkly,  days  ago, 
Is  mine  own  home,  where  I  have  right  to  dwell. 

Where  went  my  father  ?     He  was  Csesar  s  friend. 
But,  waiting  here,  I  heard  the  multitude 
Shouting  his  death,  which  yet  I'll  not  believe. 
And,  when  they  forced,  my  brother  from  my  side, 
Still  as  a  ghost  he  went,  and  came  no  more. 

See  my  poor  toys  spread  out  before  the  hearth  ! 
It  was  a  mimic  sacrifice  I  made  : 
This  doll  was  Iphigenia,  this  the  priest ; 
And  here  I  pierced  my  finger,  to  make  blood, 


A    VICTIM  OF  TIBERIUS.  157 

Till  my  nnrse  chid  me.  Are  you  come  for  that? 
I  know  our  pastime  may  offend  the  gods ; 
Know  the  dark  air  is  full  of  whispering  things 
That  bear  our  follies  to  the  ear  of  those 
"Whose  wrath  is  strong,  and  vengeance  terrible. 
But  I'm  not  wicked :  'twas  no  deadly  rite 
Invoking  evil  chance  on  man  or  God, 
Or  Caesar,  who  is  both,  they  say,  in  one. 
If  any  power  have  sent  you  for  my  faults, 
Which  I'll  confess  as  quickly  as  you'll  name, 
Bid  old  Camilla  take  my  mother's  rod, 
(I  had  a  mother.)  she  can  use  it  well ; 
And  I'll  endure  it,  though  I  meant  no  wrong. 

Thou  dost  not  leave  me  ?     In  thy  fearful  eyes, 
My  childhood  withers  with  an  instant  age. 
The  marrow  of  my  joints  seems  long  drawn  out 
Caught  on  the  horror  of  thy  countenance. 
Oh  !  this  is  like  the  nightmare  that  I  feared, 
Not  knowing  it  could  walk  abroad  by  day. 
I'd  shriek  for  pity  ;    but  my  voice  is  choked, 
As  if  the  ashes  of  the  things  I  love 


158       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Stood  in  niy  throat  to  bury  utterance. 

I  must  go  with  thee?     Never,  while  I  live. 

Ah,  pity  !  by  my  hair  he  hurries  me 

Forth  from  the  palace,  through  the  glaring  streets, 

That  strangely  reel,  and  vanish  from  my  sight. 

I  see  the  gods  there,  black  against  the  sky, 

And  stiffening  with  the  horror  of  men's  deeds. 

The  spell  that  binds  my  lips  is  on  their  hands, 

Or  they  would  move  to  help  me.     Where  is  Caesar? 

Now  hear  this  wretch  that  whispers  in  mine  ear, 

"  Caesar  will  have  thy  blood."    This  gives  me  strength 

To  snap  the  chilly  net-work  of  my  fear, 

And  cry,  "  Thou  liest !  "     See,  the  Consul  comes  ! 

"  O  noble  man  !  I  clasp  thy  garment's  edge  : 

Save  me  as  thou  wouldst  save  thy  fair-haired  girl, 

My  playmate  once."     Tears  darkle  in  his  eyes  : 

Pale,  with  a  stifled  curse  he  turns  away  ; 

He  cannot  aid  me.     Where  the  columns  range, 

The  conscript  fathers  keep  the  weal  of  Rome. 

Hark  to  me,  fathers,  — I  am  fatherless  ! 

So  quick  away  ?     Hear,  Tyber,  then,  my  cry ; 

Hear,  ye  protecting  hills  !     Ah  !  silent  all 


A    VICTIM  OF  TIBERIUS.  159 

What's  this  dark  vault  ?  and  what  yon  rusted  ring 
With  the  noose  dangling  ?     Look  to  thine  own  fate  ! 
Thou  dar'st  not  slay  a  virgin.     I  will  tear 
Thine  eyes  with  these  small  fingers  ere  thou  come 
A  foot's  length  nearer  !     Keep  away,  away, 
Thou  untold  horror  !     Only  touch  me  not ; 
And  I  will  twine  thy  halter  round  my  throat 
Like  a  bright  riband  on  a  festal  day. 
Give  me  the  rope  !  let  my  poor  bruised  hands  go, 
Seeking  the  priceless  mercy  Death  can  bring. 
Oh,  come  !  since  thy  still  feet  are  waited  for 
As  the  last  rapture,  —  sweet,  thou  com'st  too  late. 


160       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


CAIUS   CJESAR. 

I  am  the  moDster  Caius,  loathed  of  men,  — 
Him  whose  foul  record  women  may  not  read. 
In  distant  Gaul,  an  altar  to  the  gods 
Attests  the  mother-pangs  that  brought  me  forth, 
As  I  should  prove  a  boon  to  move  them  thanks. 
My  father  bred  me  soldierly  in  camps  ; 
And  the  small  jack-boots  gave  my  childish  name 
Caligula.     That  father,  in  the  East, 
Sickened  with  secret  poisons.     Ye  remember 
How  wild  his  widow  bore  the  funeral  urn, 
Landing  at  Cyprus?     Dark  Tiberius  then 
Drew  his  death-circle  slowly  round  our  way. 
My  mother,  struggling  longest,  fell  at  last. 
Two  brothers  followed,  —  one  by  hunger's  woe  ; 
One  by  his  own  resolved  hand  escaped 


CAIUS  CjESAR.  161 

The  hangman's  noose,  and  hooks  of  infamy. 

But  I,  surviving,  kept  the  tyrant's  side 

So  near,  he  could  not  spring  to  strangle  me. 

Slowly  he  recognized  my  crafty  soul, 

Knew  me  his  master  in  all  shameful  arts, 

And,  having  lopped  the  fair  limbs  from  the  tree, 

Left  me  for  the  blood-blossoms  I  should  bear, 

And  fruit  of  death.     At  first  I  only  aped 

His  outward  fashions  ;  then  I  learned  his  thoughts  ; 

Then  his  malignant  madness  seized  on  me, 

And  made  me  like  him.     Dying  as  he  lay, 

I  forced  the  cushion  'twixt  his  gaping  jaws, 

And  sped  his  flight  from  earth.     That  was,  at  least, 

A  service.     Could  I  catalogue  my  deeds, 

Thou  couldst  not  stay  to  hear  them.     Hell  itself 

Swoons  at  the  fatal  tale,  and  cries,  "  Away  !  " 

My  royal  ways  were  tapestried  with  blood  ; 

First  my  young  brother's,  followed  by  a  train 

Of  ghosts  that  might  become  imperial  race. 

I  snatched  from  new-wed  souls  their  nuptial  joys, 

And  flung  them  back,  disfigured  to  disgust. 

So  monstrous  and  unnatural  my  lusts, 


162      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

That  the  dark  horror  of  the  Caesar's  name 

Banished  the  blushing  rose  of  modesty, 

And  set  a  ghastly  pallor  in  its  place. 

My  victims  were  not  rashly  sped  to  death, 

But  tickled  with  such  agony  of  pain 

As  gave  the  stab  of  dissolution  price. 

These  pleasures  wearied,  when  the  thirst  for  gold 

Set  in,  as  cruel  and  more  terrible. 

I  wruug  the  hand  of  toil,  whose  wretched  pence 

Gained  too  much  honor  in  my  haughty  use. 

I  saw  that  vice  had  profit ;  wherefore  then 

I  planted  it,  aDd  gave  it  ministrance, 

As  one  should  tend  a  vine  of  fiery  growth, 

To  madden  others,  and  enrich  one's  self. 

To  coin,  coin,  coin,  from  every  bosom's  life, 

Became  my  master-thought.     Nor  was  there  rest 

When  darkness  hid  the  busy  threads  that  weave 

The  color  and  consistence  of  men's  days. 

My  dreams  were  brief.     I  walked  the  silent  halls, 

And  plotted  murder  till  the  morning  came 

That  made  it  easy.     When  I  clasped  a  neck 

Close  to  mine  own,  I  whispered,  "Love  me  well, 


CAWS  CJSSAR.  163 

Since  this  fair  throat  is  mine  to  cut  or  keep." 
All  attributions  to  myself  I  drew, 
All  powers,  all  pleasures,  all  magnificence. 
I  clothed  in  silks  and  plumes  and  gems  confused. 
Now  as  a  woman,  now  as  man,  I  walked, 
Now  as  a  god,  with  beard  of  wroughten  gold  ; 
And  no  one  chid  me,  —  no  one  showed  a  chain, 
Or  frowned,  or  threatened  as  I  passed  his  way. 
Beauty  was  peril,  —  the  fair  locks  of  youth 
Were  shorn  to  honor  my  denuded  front. 
Where  one  stood  eminent  for  strength  and  grace, 
I  marked  him,  and  the  hangman  had  his  word. 
Thus  did  my  rivals  vanish.     All  the  while, 
The  slow  death  ripened  in  yon  treacherous  skies, 
That  looked  so  blandly,  till  one  burning  noon, 
All  Rome  being  gathered  at  the  circus  sport, 
Loosed  the  swift  hand  that  smote  me.     As  it  fell, 
A  score  of  poniards,  like  a  shower  of  stars, 
Glittered  before  me  :   death  was  everywhere  ; 
And,  hacked  and  hewed  like  Julius,  I  went  down. 
One  shout,  the  uplifting  of  a  sea  of  hearts 
That  praised  the  gods,  was  my  last  sign  on  earth. 


164       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  night  before  the  end  of  all  things  came, 

I  dreamed  I  sat  beside  Olympian  Jove, 

And,  reasoning  as  an  equal,  blazoned  forth 

Designs  and  deeds.     "  Thus  have  I  done,  and  thus  ; 

From  mine  own  will,  the  perfect  law  of  earth. 

Hast  thou  no  joy  in  my  magnificence 

That  goes  abroad  so  glorious,  like  to  thine  ? 

Look  at  my  costly  tunic,  broidered  robe, 

Beard  of  pure  gold,  and  blazing  diadem  ! 

Think  of  my  pleasures,  boundless  as  thine  own  ; 

My  power,  like  thine,  unquestioned,  flinging  down 

Death,  and  a  thousand  deaths,  for  one  caprice. 

I  claim  celestial  triumph  at  thine  hands : 

Here  shall  they  crown  me,  equal  to  thyself." 

And  in  my  heart  I  pondered,  "  Why  not  greater?  " 

Thereat  the  Immortal's  front  grew  dark  with  wrath, 

And,  with  one  sudden  spurning  of  his  foot, 

He  sent  me  down  to  earth,  precipitate. 

Even  on  this  wise,  the  morrow  showed  my  fall ; 

But  I  am  now  where  lower  depth  is  none, 

Nor  light  of  Jove,  nor  human  countenance. 


CAIUS  CAESAR.  165 

Only  a  company  of  crowned  ghosts 

Fill  up  the  void  with  wail  that  never  tires, 

Who,  with  a  drunken  madness  like  to  mine, 

Dreamed  they  were  gods,  and,  waking,  were  not  men. 


166       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


CLAUDIUS. 

When  Caius  Coesar  sank  'neath  righteous  steel, 

The  sweet  blue  patience  of  the  firmament 

Giving  full  measure,  ere  Jove's  lightning  fell,  — 

Poor  Uncle  Claudius  !  the  fool,  of  whom 

Augustus  wrote,  "  Let  him  not  sit  Avith  us 

To  see  the  games  ;  contrive  him  out  of  sight 

Who  shames  the  Caesars  with  his  awkward  ways,"  — 

He,  scorned  of  men,  the  butt  of  all  his  tribe, 

Astonished  with  the  murder,  hid  his  head 

In  the  first  truckle-bed  he  came  upon, 

Leaving  his  heels  out,  by  the  which  they  seized, 

And  dragged  him  forth.      "To  death?"  he  shivering 

cried. 
"  To  empire  !  "  they,  and  crowned  him  where  he  stood. 


CLAUDIUS.  167 

Not  in  derision,  he  gave  grace  to  God, 
And  spread  his  solid  base  of  human  life. 

The  ambitious  rather  tampered  "with  his  wives 

Than  set  him  on  to  capering  cruelty. 

Law  did  he  give,  assiduous,  all  the  day ; 

Though,  once,  the  cook-shop  near  the  judgment-hall 

So  overcame  him,  that  he  slid  away, 

Feasted  him  full,  and  let  the  sentence  wait. 

His  tastes  in  blood  were  moderate,  but  nice. 

He  loved  to  see  the  Retiarius  die, 

And  therefore  bade  him  lift  his  quivering  face 

In  the  last  spasm.     Or  he  would  wait  a  day 

The  leisure  of  the  executioner 

Rather  than  lose  the  victim's  agonies 

The  law  allowed  him. 

With  a  sudden  zeal 
He  pleaded  once  the  tavern-keeper's  cause  : 
"  For  who,  my  masters,  would  forego  his  morsel 
At  the  right  moment,  smoking,  brown,  and  crisp? 
And  those  old  wine-shops,  with  such  cool  retreats, 
And  clammy  jars,  distilling  juice  divine, 


168       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Shall  we  not  keep  them  ?     Other  things  must  pass  : 
These  good  old  friends  shall  stand,  Joy's  monuments. 

He  gave  the  people  victuals  more  than  once, 
And  worthy  games,  with  water  combats  rare. 
Walking  abroad,  he  dubbed  them  "  Dominos," 
His  toga  loose  and  slovenly  put  on, 
And  offered  salutation  with  his  left,  — 
An  act  unseemly  for  a  nobleman. 
His  married  life  had  little  luck  or  skill,  — 
The  second  venture  wilder  than  the  first, 
While  the  third  slew  him  with  his  favorite  dish, 
The  stew  of  mushrooms,  dangerous  and  dear. 

Pass  on,  poor  wretch,  so  dull  and  debonair, — 
This  mayst  thou  teach :  How  great  soe'er  the  fool, 
The  multitude's  a  greater  whom  he  rides. 


THE   VISION  OF  PAUL.  169 


THE  VISION  OF  PAUL. 

What  is  this  that  stops  my  way 
Like  a  wall,  unseen  by  day  ? 
Who  doth  bid  my  errand  stay 

Ere  I  come  ? 
What  o'erclouds  me  like  a  dream. 
Blotting  each  remembered  scheme 
With  an  unaccustomed  theme? 

"  Jesu  sum." 

What  strange  dissolution  rends 
From  the  comfort  of  my  friends, 
From  my  life's  determined  ends  ? 

Dark  and  dumb, 
What  doth  bind  my  fluent  tongue 


170        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


Like  an  instrument  unstrung, 
ung 
"  Jesu  sum." 


With  its  lesson  never  sung? 


See  !  this  sudden  shock  of  light 
Falls  like  palsy  on  my  sight, 
Till  I  view  no  path  aright 

In  my  gloom ; 
All  my  faculties  are  dead, 
Every  sinew  bound  with  lead : 
What  this  shivering  trance  of  dread  ? 

"  Jesu  sum." 

"  Listen,  since  for  human  weal, 
That  thy  misdirected  zeal, 
Mightier  than  it  murdered,  heal, 

Am  I  come : 
Thou  with  stones  my  saints  hast  slain, 
Torture  bound  with  scourge  and  chain 
Know  thyself  the  martyr  pain  I 

Jesu  sum. 


THE   VISION  OF  PAUL.  171 

Thou  wert  mine  without  thy  knowing  ; 
From  this  moment's  wonder-showing, 
Pay  the  debt  thy  life  is  owing 

Burthensome  : 
On  the  blindness  of  thy  thought 
Dawns  the  inner  life  unsought. 
Teach,  as  thou  thyself  art  taught  ; 

Jesu  sum." 


172       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


THE   GOOD   GUALDERALDA. 

By  Arno,  on  the  Tuscan  side, 
The  matchless  Gualderalda  grew, 
Where  many  a  farm  and  meadow  wide 
Her  father's  domination  knew. 


He  moved  in  dark  and  sullen  strength  ; 
She  grew  a  lovely  flower  apart, 
With  virtues  cloistered  round  her  soul, 
Like  leaflets  round  the  lily's  heart. 


And  now  great  news  the  castle  stirs  : 
The  King,  in  hunting,  takes  this  way, 
And  of  your  hospitable  walls 
Will  ask  his  welcome  for  a  day. 


THE  GOOD   GUALDERALDA.  173 

"  Sir  Count,  the  world  accords  your  house 

A  daughter  marvellously  fair  : 

If  I  accept  your  loyal  vows, 

To  see  her  face  shall  be  ray  prayer." 


Then  from  her  turret  near  the  sky 
Came  she  in  blushing  maidenhood 
Then  first  unveiled  before  the  eye 
Of  ea";er  admiration  stood. 


"  Sire,  you  shall  touch  my  daughter's  lips 
If  so  your  royal  pleasure  deign  ; " 
Then  paled,  in  wan  and  strange  eclipse, 
Her  beauty,  with  a  sudden  pain. 


"  Xo  man  shall  touch  my  lips,"  she  saith, 
"  Save  he  who  claims  my  wedded  hand  : 
Rather  will  I  resign  my  breath, 
And  yield  my  pulses  where  I  stand." 


174       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

"  How?  dost  thou  mock  me,  froward  girl? 
"  Nay,  count,"  the  wiser  king  replies, 
"  Thou  wert  a  worse  than  peasant  churl 
Such  unflecked  virtue  to  despise. 


Go,  Gualderalda,  fair  indeed  ! 
I'll  wed  thee  proudly  in  the  land : 
The  noblest  knight  that  crosses  steed 
Shall  claim  thy  dowry  at  my  hand." 


Men  note  not  where  her  bones  repose 
In  some  old  crypt,  forgotten  long ; 
But  Dante  keeps  her  virgin  rose 
Bright  in  the  chaplet  of  his  song, 


1830  and  1858.  175 


1830  and   1853. 

An  old  man  mazed  and  wild 
Bearing  a  blond-haired  child, 
A  woman  blind  with  tears,  — 
The  mournful  train  sweeps  on  ; 
And  the  monarchy  is  gone 
For  all  the  coming  years. 


They  would  have  lingered  slow, 
For  their  hearts  beat  faint  and  low, 
Their  lives  were  a  feeble  spoil ; 
But  the  power  that's  new  and  strong 
Cries,  "  Hasten  them  along, 
Away  from  their  native  soil !  " 


176       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

But  I  can  stop,  and  sigh 

At  this  grief  of  years  gone  by,  — 

An  old  man's  fault  and  fall,  — 

And  say  that  the  exile's  woe 

Is  a  piteous  thing  to  know, 

Is  the  heaviest  weird  of  all. 


In  a  palace  bare  and  old 
That  a  royal  race  left  cold, 
These  children  of  the  sun 
Shall  moulder  in  faded  state, 
Till  the  sentence,  soon  or  late, 
Remove  them  every  one. 


Perhaps  the  shade  of  her, 
For  whom  brave  blood  doth  stir 
To  this  day  in  gallant  breasts, 
Moved  through  the  dusky  pile, 
And  welcomed  with  sad  smile 
The  old  ancestral  crests. 


1830  AND  1853.  177 

The  France  that  gave  her  birth, 
Land  of  delight  and  mirth 
Her  lips  were  fond  to  bless, 
Rolled  this  one  shattered  wave 
Across  her  foreign  grave 
For  very  tenderness. 


She  stands  beside  his  knee, 
And,  looking  wistfully 
Upon  his  reverend  head, 
Sighs,  "  Uncle,  are  you  come 
From  our  beloved  home  ? 
Tis  better  to  be  dead  ! " 


O  England  !  glad  and  free, 
With  thine  own  liberty 
Endow  thy  trembling  guest ; 
Stretch  soft  thy  mantle  where 
He  feels  the  wintry  air, 
And  fondle  him  to  rest. 

12 


178       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND   EXPERIENCE. 

But,  lo  !  a  wilder  sob, 
A  swift  and  mighty  throb  ; 
And  towards  the  rugged  North, 
With  exiled  steps  of  pain, 
And  fevered  eye  and  brain, 
Tis  France  herself  goes  forth. 


'Tis  France  ;  for  'neath  the  sun 
Freedom  and  she  were  one 
Five  little  years  ago. 
Her  glorious  flag  they  fold 
As  a  thing  disused  and  old  : 
"  We  have  other  fashions  now." 


Her  sons  must  seek  their  bread, 

And  lay  the  weary  head 

In  countries  cold  and  lone  ; 

Their  halls  are  desolate  ; 

The  friends  that  made  them  great, 

Their  works,  and  days,  are  gone. 


1830  and  1853.  179 

Nay,  never  flee,  but  stand, 
Your  good  sword  in  your  hand, 
And  cry  your  watchword  true. 
Drive  the  pursuer  back  : 
The  foe  upon  your  track 
Is  mortal,  even  as  you. 


His  slimy,  serpent  ways  ; 
His  cold,  voluptuous  days  ; 
His  coffers,  guilt-increased ; 
Your  fathers'  hearths  grow  cold. 
Yourselves  in  exile  old, 
That  he  may  reign  and  feast. 


His  infant  let  him  fold 
In  cloth  of  silk  and  gold, 
Feeding  on  pearly  food  : 
That  child  of  bastard  race, 
Let  it,  too,  find  a  place 
In  quiet  Holy  rood. 


180       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Flame  lights  the  sunken  cheek  ; 
But  the  exile's  hand  is  weak, 
Weightless  for  good  or  ill : 
Heaven  give  him  sufferance  ! 
But  thou,  great  land  of  France, 
But  God,  what  is  thy  will  ? 

Oh  !  never  read  to-day, 

Oh  !  stretching  far  away 

Where  stars  revolve  and  burn,  — 

The  lessons  of  the  free, 

The  good  that  is  to  be, 

My  children  wait  to  learn. 


PERUGIA.  181 


PERUGIA. 

Remember  ye  Perugia,  where  Raphael  dwelt  in  years 
Whose  visions  crowded  on  his  brain,  ere  praise  amazed 

his  ears ; 
Where,  ripening  fast,  a  Virgin  in  his  master's  style  he 

drew, 
With  Babe  and  Prayer-book  in  her  hands,  and  heavy 

hood  of  blue  ? 

Oh !  saw  you  e'er  the  Swirzers  stand  in  helmed  and 

jerkined  row, 
When  Christ's  meek  vicar  up  the  aisle  of  holy  church 

would  go  ? 
Bull-uecked  and  brutal-featured  they,  ferocious,  bold 

and  strong,  — 
Their  only  faith  the  pound  of  flesh  that's  paid  for7 

right  or  wrong. 


182        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

I've  seen  them  when  that  church  was  thronged  with 

pageants  grand  and  gay  ; 
When  royal  rank,  and  worldly  fame,  and  beauty  there 

held  sway : 
The  columns  wavered  in  the  smoke,  the  banners  hung 

aloof, 
And  the  golden  song  effaced  from  mind  the  glories  of 

the  roof. 

My  soul  was  drunk  with  harmony,  my  senses  swam 

and  reeled  : 
It  may  be,  when  the  trump  did  sound,  that  down  I 

sank  and  kneeled ; 
Yet  thought  I,  when  I  marked  those  men  in  cuirass 

and  in  sword, 
"  How  little  is  the  Vicar's    state   remindful   of  his 

Lord! 

No  need  to  keep  the  people  from  his  mild  and  harm- 
less way ; 

They  touched  his  garments  for  relief,  and  were  not 
warned  away ; 


PERUGIA.  183 

And,  when  his  hour  of  danger  came,  he  put  defence  to 

shame, 
Commanding,  '  Sheathe  again  thy  sword,  or  perish  by 

the  same  ! '  " 

They  came  to  old  Perugia,  that  helmed  and  jerkined 

pack ; 
They  came  with  murder  in  their  hearts,  and  armor 

at  their  back ; 
They  shot  the  men  about  the  streets,  the  women  at 

their  fire, 
The  infant  at  its  mother's  knee,  child,  wife,  and  aged 


The  streets  ran  blood :  in  every  house  some  ghastly 

corpse  was  seen. 
The   passing  traveller  saved  his  life  by  a  forgotten 

screen ; 
And,  when  the  fiends  have  done  their  work,  to  Rome 

they  take  their  way  ; 
The  Pope  doth  welcome  them  again,  and  gladly  counts 

their  pay. 


184       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Remember  well  Perugia,  thou  Old  World  and  thou 

New  ! 
The  Vicar's  visitation  this,  —  such  care  he  takes  of  you, 
Ye  of  no  sin  accused  or  tried,  warped  to  no  heresy, 
Guilty  of  nothing  but  the  sweet  contagion  of  the  free. 

Remember,  ye  who  deeply  think,  and  ye  who  greatly 
dare  ; 

Remember,  ye  who  talk  with  God  in  poesy  and 
prayer ; 

For  he's  the  lie  of  all  the  earth,  that  false  Pope,  pride- 
enthroned, 

Begirt  with  flaming  cardinals,  an  idol,  serpent-zoned. 

'Tis  time  that  Christ  should  come  again,  and  sweep 

his  temple  clean, 
And  rend  the  glittering  robes  that  hide  a  fable  poor 

and  mean. 
His  Church  was  not  a  fortress  armed,  to  deal  out  dealh 

and  dread  ; 
Nor  yet  a  mummy  sepulchre,  where  men  adore  the 

dead: 


PERUGIA.  185 

It  was  —  but  ere  our  creeds  grow  wise,  let  once  our 

arms  be  strong 
To  fling  beyond  the  hating  world  this  monstrous  curse 

and  wrong. 
Sweet  Christ,  let  faithless  Peter  sink,  forgotten,  like  a 

stone  ; 
And  the  fair  ship  move  swiftly  on,  afloat  with  thee 

alone ! 

My  country,  let  no  hoary  lie  for  refuge  come  to  you  ! 
The  things  that  were  have  had  their  day  ;  the  things 

that  are,  are  true. 
While  women  kiss  the  jewelled  hand,  and  praise  the 

broidered  hem, 
Let  men  bring  back  the  heart  of  Christ,  that  lives  for 

us  and  them. 


186       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


OF  WOMAN. 

It  was  a  silken  woman  of  the  world 

That  of  fond  Herod  claimed  the  Baptist's  head  : 

"  If  this  sad  virtue  gets  to  countenance, 

Our  dancing's  done  with,  in  the  quickest  way." 

And,  for  a  painted  toy,  the  anointed  brow 

That  knew  the  Christ's  significance  must  fall. 

Such  deadly  power  is  hid  in  smallest  things  : 

The  Aspic  might  have  chilled  from  Love's  delight 

The  bosom  it  assisted  to  Love's  end. 

The  shaft  of  death  is  subtle  as  a  thread,  — 

The  air  may  bring,  the  garland's  bloom  conceal,  - 

One  desperate  finger  holds  it  over  us, 

Or  in  a  woman's  snowy  breast  it  lies. 


OF  WOMAN.  187 

Teach,  then,  the  woman  all  the  Prophet's  worth, 
So  will  she  bow  the  tresses  of  her  head 
To  yield  him  passing  homage,  and  pour  out 
The  treasure  of  her  life  to  ransom  his. 

I  love  the  woman  with  the  woman's  heart, 
Giving,  not  gathering,  —  shedding  light  abroad 
As  the  man  glooms  it  in,  for  midnight  toil. 
Better  our  Hebrew  Eve,  who  shares  with  love 
The  guilty  glory  of  her  stolen  prize, 
Than  the  three  haughty  Heathen  who  rose  up, 
Claiming  of  man  a  vain  pre-eminence,  — 
Not  his  to  give,  —  God's  only,  and  the  hearts. 

They  showed  me  drawings  by  a  six-years'  child 
Of  beasts  incongruous,  harnessed  to  a  car : 
"  Now,  on  my  life,  he  is  artist-born,"  I  said. 
"Wherefore?     You  see  the  slim  camelopard 
Rearing  her  strength  up,  pulling  from  the  head  ; 
While  the  swift  horses  stretch  to  twice  their  length, 
Spinning  themselves  to  slender  threads  of  speed, 
Nay,  with  their  iron  sinews  knitting  up 


188       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

A  belt  of  haste  like  that  our  Shakspeare  drew 
With  Puck's  impatient  malice,  round  the  world. 
The  little  one  has  guessed  the  trick  of  strength 
And  action,  so  is  artist-born,"  I  say. 

"  For  your  true  artist  knows  how  all  things  work  ; 
Bestows  no  Zephyrus  to  prop  a  pile 
Whose  angles  huge  insult  his  littleness, 
Cramping  the  sympathetic  soul  with  pain, 
But  the  great  patient  forms  whose  shoulders  broad 
Invite  such  burthens  ;  whose  fixed  features  say, 
'  This  weight  contents  us  ;  we  are  glad  in  strength  ; ' 
While  the  light  figure  poises  at  the  top, 
Holding  the  heavy  network  gathered  up 
To  meet  the  apex  of  his  graciousness. 

So,  Sisters,  leave  the  weightier  tasks  of  strength, 
The  underpinnings  of  society, 
And  flutter  with  your  graces  nearer  heaven. 
He  thinks  of  you,  the  steadfast  Caryatid,  — 
The  faithful  arches  clasp  their  hands  beneath 


OF   WOMAN.  189 

To  keep  you  in  your  breathless  eminence  ; 
The  gloomy  cellar  way,  the  weary  stair, 
Exalt  the  platform  where  you  reign  serene. 

Stay  there,  Beloved,  the  Angel  at  the  top, 

That  crowns  and  lightens  all  the  heavy  work. 

The  very  prisoners,  entering  at  the  grate, 

Perceive  an  intercession  in  thine  eyes, 

And  keep  their  dungeons,  waiting  for  thy  sword. 

Stay  thus,  my  Angel,  seeing  over  thee 

The  Heaven  that  dreamed  the  Mary  and  her  Christ,  — 

The  dream  whereat  the  Baby  Earth  awoke, 

And,  smiling,  keeps  that  smile  forever  more." 


190       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


AMANDA'S   INVENTORY. 

This  is  my  hat :   behold  its  upstart  plume, 
Soaring  like  pride,  that  even  in  heaven  asks  room 
This  is  my  cloak  of  scarlet  splendor  rare, 
A  saucy  challenge  to  the  sunset  glare. 

Behold  my  coach  of  state  and  pony  chaise, 
A  fairy  pleasure  for  the  summer  days  ; 
The  steeds  that  fly,  like  lightnings  in  a  leash, 
With  their  rude  Jove,  subservient  to  my  wish. 

Here  are  my  jewels  ;  each  a  fortune  holds  ; 
A  starving  artist  planned  the  graceful  moulds  : 
Here  hang  my  dresses  in  composed  array, 
A  rainbow  with  a  hue  for  every  day. 


AMANDA'S  INVENTORY.  191 

These  are  my  lovers,  registered  in  date, 
Who,  with  my  dowry,  seek  myself  to  mate. 
The  haughtiest  wooer  wins  me  for  his  bride : 
Who  asks  affection?     Pride  should  wed  with  pride. 

These  are  my  friends,  who  hourly  come  or  send, 
Pleased  with  my  notice  and  a  finger-end  ; 
Yonder's  my  parson,  proud  to  share  my  feast ; 
My  doctor's  there,  a  sycophantic  beast. 

This  is  my  villa,  where  I  take  my  ease 
With  flowers  well-ordered,  and  ambitious  trees  ; 
And  this  —  what  sudden  spectre  stays  my  breath  ? 
Amanda,  poor  Amanda  !  this  is  death. 


192       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


LYKE-WAKE. 

I  saw  him  at  a  banquet  gay, 

Elate  with  speech  and  flushed  with  wine  \ 

Above  the  revel  making  way, 

His  eye,  unwitting,  answered  mine. 

What  his  expressed  I  did  not  read  ; 
But  mine,  if  I  mistake  not,  said, 
"  This  minds  me  of  their  feasts  indeed 
Who  drain  the  wine-cup  o'er  their  dead  ; 

Who  set  the  liquid  fire  to  flare 
Where  late  the  spirit-flame  has  flown ; 
The  sorrow  still  unearthed  and  bare 
The  miserable  drink  should  drown." 


BARGAINS.  193 


BARGAINS. 

He  prest  a  ruby  on  her  lips,  whose  burning  blood 

shone  through  ; 
Twin  sapphires  bound  above  her  eyes,  to  match  their 

fiery  blue  ; 
And,  where  her  hair  was  parted  back,  an  opal  gem  he 

set, — 
Type  of  her  changing  countenance,  where  all  delights 

were  met. 

"  TTill    you  surrender  now,"  he    said,  "  the  ancient 

grudge  you  keep 
Untiring  and  mmttered,  like  murder  in  the  deep  ?  " 
"  I  thank  you  for  the  word,"  she  said  ;  "  your  gems 

are  fair  of  form 
But  when  did  jewels  bind  the  depths,  or  splendors 

still  the  storm? 

13 


194       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

There  is  no  diamond  in  the  mine,  nor  pearl  beneath 

the  wave, 
There  is  no  fretted  coronet  that  soothes  a  princely 

grave, 
There  is  nor  fate  nor  empire  in  the  wide  infinity, 
Can  stand  in  grace  and  virtue  with  the  gift  you  had 

from  me." 


ROUGE  GAGXE.  195 


ROUGE  GAGNE. 

The  wheel  is  turned,  the  cards  are  laid ; 
The  circle's  drawn,  the  bets  are  made  : 
I  stake  my  gold  upon  the  red. 

The  rubies  of  the  bosom  mine, 
The  river  of  life,  so  swift  divine, 
In  red  all  radiantly  shine. 

Upon  the  cards,  like  gouts  of  blood, 
Lie  dinted  hearts,  and  diamonds  good, 
The  red  for  faith  and  hardihood. 

In  red  the  sacred  blushes  start 
On  errand  from  a  virgin  heart, 
To  win  its  glorious  counterpart. 


196       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  rose  that  makes  the  summer  fair, 
The  velvet  robe  that  sovereigns  wear, 
The  red  revealment  could  not  spare. 

And  men  who  conquer  deadly  odds 
By  fields  of  ice,  and  raging  floods, 
Take  the  red  passion  from  the  gods. 

Now,  Love  is  red,  and  Wisdom  pale, 
But  human  hearts  are  faint  and  frail 
Till  Love  meets  Love,  and  bids  it  hail. 

I  see  the  chasm,  yawning  dread  ; 
I  see  the  flaming  arch  o'erhead  : 
I  stake  my  life  upon  the  red. 


THE   TEA-PARTY.  197 


THE  TEA-PARTY. 

I  am  not  with  you,  sisters,  in  your  talk  ; 
I  sit  not  in  your  fancied  judgment-seat : 
Not  thus  the  sages  in  their  council  walk, 
Not  in  this  wise  the  calm  great  spirits  meet. 

My  life  has  striven  for  broader  scope  than  yours  ; 
The  daring  of  its  failure  and  its  fact 
Have  taught  how  deadly  difficult  it  is 
To  suit  the  high  endeavor  with  an  act. 

I  do  not  reel  my  satire  by  the  yard, 
To  flout  the  fronts  of  honorable  men  ; 
Nor,  with  poor  cunning,  underprize  the  heart 
Whose  impulse  is  not  open  to  my  ken. 


198       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Ah  !  sisters,  but  your  frpward  speech  comes  well 
To  help  the  woman's  standard,  new-unfurled : 
In  carpet  council  ye  may  win  the  day ; 
But  keep  your  limits,  —  do  not  rule  the  world. 

"What  strife  should  come,  what  discord  rule  the  times, 
Could  but  your  pettish  will  assert  its  way ! 
No  lengthened  wars  of  reason,  but  a  rage, 
Shown  and  repented  twenty  times  a  day. 

Ye're  all  my  betters,  —  one  in  beauty  more, 
And  one  in  sharpness  of  the  wit  and  tongue, 
And  one  in  trim,  decorous  piety, 
And  one  with  arts  and  graces  ever  young. 

But  well  I  thank  my  father's  sober  house 
Where  shallow  judgment  had  no  leave  to  be, 
And  hurrying  years,  that,  stripping  much  beside, 
Turned  as  they  fled,  and  left  me  charity. 


MAID  AND  MISTRESS.  199 


MAID   AND   MISTRESS. 

AN    ECLOGUE. 

Lady  Olympia,  I'm  so  glad  you've  left 
The  dreary  villa  for  this  pleasant  home 
That  lies  in  sight  of  every  omnibus, 
And  sends  the  winds  that  whistle  as  they  pass 
To  vent  their  spite  elsewhere,  —  so  stout  it  is. 

Here,  too,  are  men  to  tramp  the  stairs  for  us, 
The  sort  of  men  that  care  for  women's  thanks. 
Your  country  louts,  you  know,  are  country-bred 
No  mother-feeling,  stirring  at  the  heart, 
Sends  them  to  help  us  at  the  wood  or  well. 

Then,  so  communicable  with  the  shops  ! 
The  butcher  comes,  the  baker  also  comes, 
And  at  a  nod  the  grocer's  boy  is  here  ; 


200        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

While  from  my  cousin's  uncle's  brother's  wife 
I  hear  of  neighbors,  and  the  folks  at  home. 


You  sigh,  dear  lady  ;  for  you  loved  your  fields, 
And  talked  of  Nature,  which  I  never  learned, 
Seeking  the  sunny  corners  all  day  long  ; 
Or,  sitting  grand  and  graceful  in  the  hall, 
Kept  still  a  blazing  log  to  comfort  you, 
While  we  went  shivering  up  the  garret  stairs, 
Asking  each  night,  "  "When  will  my  lady  move? 


Ah  !  mistress  dear,  I  love  your  service  well, 
And  praise  it  with  the  honest  bread  I  eat : 
But  you're  too  easy  with  our  sort  of  folk ; 
And  that  great  cook,  the  red-faced,  humbugs  you. 


The  man  too  —  why,  his  eyes  will  dance  with  mirth 
When  you  receive  his  solemn  tale  of  work, 
Looking  such  pity  for  his  aching  joints  ; 


MAID  AND  MISTRESS.  201 

He  having  sat  beside  the  kitchen  fire, 
And  munched  his  victuals  thankless,  all  the  day, 
While  we,  poor  womankind,  have  hauled  the  coals, 
And  brought  the  water  up,  with  straining  backs, 
Till  he  has  grown  ashamed  to  meet  our  looks, 
And  feigned  a  villanous  sleep  to  shut  them  out. 


Well,  well,  you're  snug  within  your  chamber  now, 
And  I  have  company,  and  needful  help, 
And  beautiful  oak-chips  to  light  your  fire  ; 
And  so  the  winter  promises  to  pass  : 
But,  Dame  Olympia,  let  me  rule  the  cook, 
And  keep  her  cousins  from  the  larder  shelf, 
All  fond  of  her,  and  blest  with  appetite. 


And  should  that  louting  Thomas  rouse  himself, 
Never  say,  "  Thomas,  do  not  work  so  hard  ;  " 
For  when  you  speak  so,  and  I  bid  him  wag, 
He'll  answer,  "  Did  you  mind  my  mistress'  words 
I'm  sitting  here  to  help  her  care  of  me," 


202      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Thus  spake  my  favorite,  petted  by  long  love  ; 
And  I  forgave  that  neighborhood  of  stars, 
And  softest  quarrel  'twixt  the  shore  and  sea, 
Which  made  my  villa,  where  you've  sat  at  meat 
With  little  splendor,  worthy  of  a  queen. 


THE  MODERATE  MAN.  203 


THE  MODERATE  MAN. 

How  shall  the  money  flow  into  my  pocket  ? 
Swift  grow  the  fortunes  of  men,  and  their  pride. 
Small  my  estate,  though  I  labor  to  stock  it, 
Left  of  my  father,  fourfold  to  divide. 

Money  to  dress  these  fair  girls  of  mine  finely, 
Catch  a  rich  suitor,  and  rivet  him  fast ; 
Couches  of  silk  to  repose  on  supinely, 
Wooing  the  life-joys  gone  by  with  the  past. 

Soon  my  young  master  asks  horses  to  ease  him, 
Saucy  at  college,  at  billiards  most  brave  ; 
Endless  devices  shall  plunder  and  please  him. 
Youth  must  have  follies,  and  parents  can  save. 


204       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Nay,  thou  art  pampered  e'en  now  out  of  measure, 
Lackest  no  comfort  through  hunger  or  grief ; 
Dances  and  festivals  bring  needless  pleasure, 
Seen  to  depart  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

See  where  my  lost  ones  sit  low  in  their  mourning, 
Sunken  the  bosom,  and  hollow  the  cheek  ; 
There  may  thy  spirit  find  better  adorning 
With  the  inheritance  vowed  to  the  meek. 

Seeking  the  boasting,  the  tinsel,  the  racket, 
Little  thou  learn'st  Life's  miraculous  art : 
Let  the  gold  rather  flow  out  of  thy  pocket ; 
Then  may  the  mercy  flow  into  thy  heart. 


WARNING. 


205 


WARNING. 

Power,  reft  of  aspiration  ; 
Passion,  lacking  inspiration  ; 
Leisure,  not  of  contemplation. 

Thus  shall  danger  overcome  thee, 
Fretted  luxury  consume  thee, 
All  divineness  vanish  from  thee. 

Be  a  man,  and  be  one  wholly  ; 
Keep  one  great  love,  purely,  solely, 
Till  it  make  thy  nature  holy  ; 

That  thy  way  be  paved  in  whiteness, 
That  thy  heart  may  beat  in  lightness, 
That  thy  being  end  in  brightness. 


206       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


CONTRASTS. 

I  shall  not  come  to  the  heavenly  court 
As  I  enter  your  ball  to-night, 

In  tissues  wreathed  with  flowery  sport, 
And  jewels  of  haughty  light, 

Bearing  on  shoulders  stiff  and  straight 

The  marble  of  my  face, 
Moving  with  high  and  measured  gait 

To  claim  my  yielded  place. 

Poor  narrow  souls  !  your  easy  spite 
Moves  this  enforced  disdain  : 

I  cannot  vanish  from  the  fight 
Other  than  crowned  or  slain. 


CONTRASTS.  207 

The  russet  garb  of  penitence 

For  me  were  lighter  wear 
Than  all  a  queen's  magnificence, 

A  prince's  minivere. 

Unloose,  unloose  your  chains  of  pride, 

Set  my  vexed  spirit  free, 
That  I  may  follow  my  angel  guide 

In  glad  humility. 

For  I  would  hearken  the  sentence  deep. 

Abide  the  lifted  rod, 
And  sink,  like  a  chastened  child,  to  weep 

In  the  fatherhood  of  God. 


208        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A  VISION   OF   PALM   SUNDAY. 

If  I  were  a  titled  princess,  this  blessed  Palm-Sunday 
morn, 

I'd  not  sit  in  this  little   carriage,  with  varnish  and 

paint  forlorn  ; 
Nor  wear  this  old  cloak  and  bonnet,  kept  carefully  for 

the  day : 
There  should  be  no  best  in  my  wardrobe ;  I'd  go  in 

best  things  alway. 

And  this  Yankee  should  never  drive  me,  this  saucy 

son  of  the  whip, 
Who  sits  in  a  cart  on  week-days,  a  leather  belt  on  his 

hip; 
Nor  this  small  horse  of  smaller  breeding,  that  starts  at 

each  foolish  fright : 
I'd    borrow    the    Sun's    proud    coursers,    and    sweep 

through  the  streets  like  light. 


A    VISION  OF  PALM  SUNDAY.  209 

This  dust  should  not  trouble  my  vision,  nor  smart  in 
my  tingling  breast ; 

With  dewy  drops  rosy  scattered,  the  air  itself  should 
be  blest ; 

And  these  people  that  stare  so  wanly  from  their  win- 
dows empty  of  sky 

Should  glow  like  a  sun-touched  landscape  with  the  joy 
of  my  riding  by. 

For  you  see,  I  myself  should  bless  them  ;  no  committee 

should  scan  their  need  : 
I'd  visit  their  doleful  dwellings,  my  help  should  be  help 

indeed  ; 
I'd  bring  them  to  true  heart-wishes,  not  only  to  clothes 

and  bread ; 
I'd  pull  down  these  toppling  houses,  and  build  pretty 

cots  instead. 

And  this  were  my  April  fooling,  when  they  came  from 

this  morning's  church, — 
In  vain  for  their  rags  and  cobwebs,  and  joyless  beds, 

should  they  search  : 

14 


210       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

All  waving  with  snowy  curtains  their  newly  stained 

walls  should  be  ; 
And  their   scores  paid  up  at  all  dealers,  such  help 

should  they  claim  from  me. 

And  these  little  ones  bare  and  ragged,  that  play  with 

the  Sunday's  palms, 
They  should  answer  with  wide-mouthed  wonder,  I'd 

give  them  such  golden  alms  ; 
And  these  crying  babies  some  angel  should  touch  with 

a  waving  bough, 
Till  they  smiled  on  their  mothers'  bosoms,  where  they 

hang  so  heavily  now. 

But  not  such  poor  cheap-bought  comforts,  not  blessings 
that  come  for  pelf,  — 

The  dearest  and  costliest  blessing,  I'd  carry  it  in  my- 
self. 

My  smile  should  be  meed  for  heroes,  my  lips  draw 
such  tender  breath, 

That  a  little  strain  of  my  music  should  comfort  the 
pangs  of  death. 


A    VISION  OF  PALM  SUNDAY.  211 

Such  a  heart  I'd  bear  in  my  bosom,  that,  threading  the 

crowded  streets, 
My  face  should  shed  joy  unlooked  for  on  every  poor 

soul  one  meets ; 
And  such  wisdom  should  crown  my  forehead,  that, 

coming  where  counsels  stand, 
I  should  carry  the  thoughts  of  justice,  and  stablish  the 

weal  of  the  land. 

The  servants-  that  waited  on  me  should  so  prize  the 

gracious  task, 
No  wage-gold  should  bring  or  bind  them,  my  presence 

were  all  to  ask  ; 
And  they  who  should  leave  my  service,  with  sorrowful 

feet  and  slow 
Out-lengthening  a  dear  remembrance,  from  my  sight 

and  sound  should  go. 

For  a  church  I'd  have  such  a  temple  as  wonders  the 

world  in  Rome, 
With  a  thousand  sunny  corners  where  angels  might 

make  their  home : 


212      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

I'd  not  have  the  prayers  in  Latin,  and  the  doctrine  far 

out  of  reach, 
But  the  homely  to  help  the  humble,  like  the  Fisher  of 

old  should  preach. 

For  myself  I  would  keep  no  gewgaws,  no  trumpery 

cloth  of  gold, 
No  stick  of  a  Stick  in  Waiting  for  gaping  fools  to 

behold : 
Friends  should  gather  where'er  I  wandered,  hearts 

should  build  me  a  blood-red  throne  ; 
'Tis  with  loving  the  world  and  with  blessing  I'd  win 

it  to  be  my  own. 

Yet  I'd  keep  the  rich  guerdon  of  beauty,  and  youth 

should  but  mellow  down 
To  a  fuller,  maturer  feeling,  that  knowledge  and  duties 

crown ; 
And  the  tireless  flow  of  spirits,  with  the  sober  delight 

of  art, 
And  some  subtle,  saintly  secret,  to  hold  from  the  world 

apart. 


A    VISION  OF  PALM  SUNDAY.  213 

If  thy  wealth  be  loving  and  giving,  the  good  God  is 
over  all 

To  bless  the  world  with  thy  blessing,  —  no  prayer  doth 
unheeded  fall. 

Gather  back  thy  joys  in  thy  bosom  this  blessed  Palm- 
Sunday  morn, 

For  we  have  the  grace  that  we  ask  for ;  thou'rt  better 
than  princess  born. 


214       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


JEALOUSY. 

Low  in  my  bosom,  aspic,  thou  must  hide, 
Its  best  blood  not  too  dainty  for  thy  fang ; 
Such  closeness  saves  me  from  the  hell  of  pride, 
Should  haughty  conquerors  know  the  deadly  pang. 

No  beggar  takes  thee  home.     In  all  men's  eyes 
I  have  been  crowned  with  glory  in  my  time  : 
Joy  that  made  Envy  cruel  to  a  crime 
Has  draped  me  in  the  sight  of  summer  skies. 
And  she  who  flouts  me,  fallen  from  my  prime, 
Had  been  a  spot  upon  my  affluent  noon 
That  grasped  the  hill-tops,  and  the  valleys  drew 
To  one  accord  of  rapturous  delight. 


JEALOUSY.  215 

Ah  me  !  in  love,  December  waits  on  June  : 
We  have  not  lost  a  gesture  nor  a  tune, 
Before  a  rival  revels  in  our  right. 

Sting  deep  to  death,  that  sex  and  soul  be  lost, 
That  they,  the  happy,  may  turn  cold  with  shame  ; 
Love,  to  recall  his  gem  of  worthier  cost ; 
And  Hate,  to  find  me  perished  ere  she  came. 


216       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


WITHOUT   AND   WITHIN. 

Go  away  to  the  world's  wild  hubbub  : 
I  cannot  go  with  thee  ; 
For  the  deep  home-anchors  hold  me 
From  the  waves  of  that  yeasty  sea, 
Where,  the  sun  my  fresh  sail  gilding, 
We  once  held  company. 


If  the  vain  and  the  silly  bind  thee, 

I  cannot  unlock  thy  chain  ; 

If  sin  and  the  senses  blind  thee, 

Thyself  must  endure  the  pain  ; 

If  the  arrows  of  conscience  find  thee. 

Thou  must  conquer  thy  peace  again. 


WITHOUT  AND    WITHIN.  217 

Here  the  line  that  runs  between  us 
Is  narrow,  but  black  as  night : 
Faith  sits  passive  this  side  the  border, 
More  happy,  perhaps,  than  sight ; 
And  I  wring  me  slow  drops  of  comfort 
Where  once  I  drank  swift  delisrht. 


For  I  sit  here  with  lovelorn  Tasso  ; 
With  Dante,  hooded  and  crowned  ; 
While,  further,  the  classic  satyrs 
Beat  the  old  Virgilian  ground  ; 
And  I  hark  for  the  Flaccian  lyre, 
Till  spirit  comes  back  for  sound. 


Here  I  sit  with  the  scornful  Roman 

Who  tells  his  grim  tale  so  cold 

Of  the  vanishing  Southern  nation, 

And  the  Northerns  bright-haired  and  bold  : 

Last  year  'twas  a  breathless  story, 

But  now  'tis  a  tale  oft  told. 


218       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

And  the  sons  of  Science  around  me 

Reach  help  from  reserved  hands  : 

They  have  spread  their  net  for  the  Godhood, 

And  bound  Him  with  close-wove  bands, 

While  He  counts  their  small  thoughts  in  His  balance 

With  minutes,  and  drops,  and  sands. 

I  am  here  with  the  prophets  whose  warnings 

In  the  golden  eternity  fall ; 

I  am  here  with  the  good  Physician 

Who  healeth  both  great  and  small ; 

I  am  here  with  the  great  soul-masters  ; 

And  sorrow,  greater  than  all. 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE   CATARACT.  219 


THE   VOICE   OF   THE   CATARACT. 

Canopied  by  trees,  the  Torrent 
Rages  on  her  bed  of  stone  ; 
She,  so  slim  and  staid  last  summer, 
To  a  monstrous  madness  grown. 

At  her  feet  the  fair  Spray  children, 
Tossing  wide  their  snowy  locks, 
Cushion  soft  her  frantic  movements 
From  the  roughness  of  the  rocks. 

"What  doth  ail  thee,  hoary  Princess, 
Tossing  on  thy  bed  of  pain, 
While  the  ruddy  trees  above  thee 
Drop  unceasing  tears  of  rain? 


220       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Fain  to  loose  thy  pallid  tresses, 
Fain  thy  garments  wild  to  tear,  — 
Like  a  passion,  ever  moving  ; 
Like  a  sorrow,  ever  there. 

Was  the  summer  wind  thine  Essex? 
Did  some  treacherous  blossom-pile 
Keep  his  last  sigh  from  thy  bosom, 
From  his  sight  thy  pardoning  smile  ? 

"  Oh  the  bitter  frost  of  winter  ! 
Oh  the  false  delight  of  spring ! 
He  whose  heart  knows  no  betrayal 
Skills  not  of  the  song;  I  sing." 


THE  EVENING  RIDE. 


221 


THE   EVENING   RIDE. 

Through  purple  clouds  with  golden  crests 

I  go  to  find  my  lover  ; 

Hid  from  my  sight  this  many  a  year, 

My  heart  must  him  discover  : 

I  know  the  lair  of  the  timid  hare, 

The  nest  of  the  startled  plover. 

O  Earth  !  of  all  thy  garlands  keep 
The  fairest  for  our  meeting  : 
Could  we  ask  music,  'twere  to  drown 
The  heart's  tumultuous  beating, 
That  only  eyes,  in  glad  surprise, 
Might  look  through  tears  their  greeting. 


222       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

If  Time  have  writ  my  beauty  out, 
I  have  no  charm  to  blind  him  ; 
No  snare  to  catch  his  doubting  soul, 
Nor  vow  exchanged  to  bind  him  ; 
But  this  I  keep,  that  I  must  weep 
Bitterly  when  I  find  him. 


NIGHT-MUSINGS.  223 


.NIGHT-MUSINGS. 

I  walk  the  lonely  roofs  at  night, 
The  roof-tree  creaking  as  I  go  ; 
A  farthing  taper  gives  me  light, 
And  monstrous  darkness  sits  below. 

What  spell  is  in  these  feet  of  mine 
That  binds  them  so  to  beat  the  air  ? 
What  tears  are  in  my  blood,  or  wine, 
That  will  not  yield  to  sleep  or  prayer  ? 

Ah  me  !  the  day  brought  sleep  enough  ; 
Its  humming  pulses  drowsed  my  soul ; 
My  ways  were  spun  of  funeral  stuff, 
And  every  meal  was  death  and  dole. 


224       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

But  now  my  measured  footstep  seems 
A  chariot,  drawn  by  burning  doves  ; 
Or  now  my  fancy  climbs  in  dreams 
A  ladder  of  transfigured  loves. 


Or  now  I  stand  as  Jacob  stood, 
Matched  hand  to  hand,  and  knee  to  knee 
Thou  unknown  Fate,  declare  thy  good  ! 
Answer,  and  I  will  set  thee  free. 


And  now  I  walk  a  garden  bed, 
Whose  flowers  contend  with  fervent  airs  ; 
And  each  fair  bell  that  lifts  its  head 
A  look  of  loved  remembrance  wears. 


Or,  last,  I  sit  in  some  strange  isle, 
Unsexed  by  Age  and  Wisdom's  might, 
And  make  a  pictured  parchment  smile 
With  words  illegible  for  light. 


NIGHT-MUSINGS.  225 

A  slip,  a  shock,  a  distant  tone  ! 

The  world's  pale  watchman  ciying  woe  ; 

I  spin  my  thread  of  light  alone, 

And  Darkness  whets  its  shears  below. 


15 


226        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


SUMMER  NIGHT. 

In  the  lovely  summer  night, 
Softest  music  breathes  around  me, 
Softest  memories  have  bound  me, 

In  the  lovely  summer  night. 

A  Star  doth  send  his  light,  — 
A  blazing  diamond,  pearl  beset, 
The  brightest  where  the  bright  are  met, 

In  the  lovely  summer  night. 

In  the  lovely  summer  night,  — 
Walking  with  beloved  shadows 
O'er  the  star-lit  heaths  and  meadows 

In  the  lovely  summer  night. 


SUMMER  NIGHT.  227 

In  the  lovely  summer  night, 
Sharp-edged  Sorrow  waits  to  seize  me  ; 
Death,  from  sorrow  to  release  me 

In  the  lovely  summer  night. 


228       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


EROS   HAS   WARNING. 

Shut  here  thy  burning  gospel ; 
Thou  and  I  must  part,  O  Love  ! 
Keep  ambush  for  youth's  gay  spirits 
To  bear  in  thy  car  above  ; 
Leave  me  slow  to  tread  the  earth-ball, 
Who  languidly  live  and  move. 


Wait  not  with  thy  wings  where  I  issue 

In  the  winter's  cold  and  frost, 

To  carry  me  swift  through  the  snow-drift, 

And  the  heavens,  cloud-embossed  : 

I  will  take  me  a  humbler  airing, 

Will  travel  at  lowlier  cost. 


EROS  HAS   WARNING.  229 

Thou  foe  of  the  task  and  the  fireside, 
Thou  foe  of  the  placid  brow, 
Thou  tyrant  of  gentlest  bosoms, 
Seek  other  dominion  now  ! 
For  my  }^ears  lie  counted  before  me  ; 
I  must  work  to  redeem  a  vow. 


When  thou  passest,  all  in  thy  glory, 
"With  thy  rosy-bosomed  crew  ; 
When  thy  Pasan  loud  resoundeth, 
And  the  World  is  crowned  anew,  — 
I'll  not  join  the  frantic  strophe, 
I'll  not  sine  "  Io"  too. 


A  web  of  peace  and  of  science 

Hangs  gathering  in  my  loom, 

And  I  work  after  thoughts  of  wisdom 

That  blot  out  our  human  doom  ; 

And  the  garb  I  have  wrapped  around  me 

I  shall  carry  it  to  the  tomb. 


230       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

So  here  I  acknowledge,  master, 

Thy  magical  law  and  spell ; 

Oh  !  deeper  than  thought  can  fathom, 

Oh  !  greater  than  words  can  tell ; 

Let  us  part  from  our  hands'  long  clasping, 

And  solemnly  bid  farewell. 


EROS  DEPARTS.  231 


EROS   DEPARTS. 

Love  that  wert  my  being, 
Love  that  passest  death, 
Am  I  here  without  thee, 
Breathing  human  breath  ? 
Moving,  not  to  meet  thee 
On  this  summer  morn  ? 
While  the  Earth,  new-cinctured, 
Blyth  and  bloom  adorn? 

While  the  deep-hung  branches, 
Trailing,  sweep  the  ground, 
And  the  droning  beetle 
Spinneth  round  for  round, 


232       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

And  the  light,  wave-broken, 
Shimmers  on  the  sea, 
Do  I  sit  here,  waiting 
Nevermore  for  thee  ? 

But  for  thee  my  fancy 

Chose  these  garments  white, 

Wove  the  tufted  roses 

But  for  thy  delight ; 

But  for  thee  this  diamond, 

Darling  of  the  mine, 

Glistens  in  the  ear-drop 

Like  a  tear  of  thine,  — 

Like  a  tear,  that,  welling 

From  thy  happy  breast, 

Where  thy  vows  were  whispered, 

Waiteth  to  be  blest. 

Beasts  in  yonder  meadow 
Lightly  choose  a  mate, 
Missing,  scarce  a  day's  length 
Wonder  they,  and  wait ; 


EROS  DEPARTS.  233 

But  the  ewe  lamb's  mother 
Bleateth  long  and  sore  ; 
Thrush,  in  yonder  covert, 
Sorroweth  evermore  ; 
Choking  with  a  spasm 
In  her  silver  strain, 
"  Dear  delight  of  summer, 
Come  again,  again  !  " 

Not  that  thou  shouldst  leave  me,  — 
Thou,  ethereal  born  ; 
But  that  I  survive  thee, — 
That  is  grief  and  scorn. 

Poor  in  form  and  stature, 
Pale  and  dull  of  hue, 
By  thy  creed  of  beauty 
Towards  thy  wish  I  grew, 
Fought  with  Time  and  Nature, 
Conquered  bitter  pain, 
Keeping  thievish  footsteps 
From  thy  dear  domain. 


234      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

From  that  task  delightsome, 
Grief-absolved  I  lie  ; 
Free  to  pine  and  perish, 
Love,  since  thou  canst  die. 
While  the  trees,  like  mourners, 
Bear  my  azure  pall, 
Let  the  whirlwind  scatter, 
Let  the  ashes  fall, 
Striving  towards  no  heaven 
Dim  and  distant  far  : 
Only  where  thou  dwellest 
The  Immortals  are. 


SIMPLE   TALES.  235 


SIMPLE   TALES. 

I. 

What  are  they  bringing  to  this  grave, 

0  Sexton  pale  and  old? 

What  blossom  white,  or  blasted  root, 

Must  underlie  this  mould  ? 

Hark  to  the  bell !  —  I  cannot  tell : 

We  dig  the  grave,  and  ring  the  knell. 


If  you  must  ask  —  that  married  pair, 

That  move  so  stiff  and  sad, 

With  snow-flakes  thickening  in  their  hair, 

In  new-dyed  sables  clad  ; 

The  kerchief  busy  at  their  eyes, 

That  way,  methinks,  the  burthen  lies. 


236      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

In  yonder  moss-clad  church,  their  pew 

Showed  once  a  gracious  child, 

A  laughing  imp  of  rosy  hue 

In  glee  and  mischief  wild. 

To  manhood  grown,  he  went  away, 

Returning  in  an  evil  day. 


"Ho,  rascals  ! "  cries  he,  " take  my  beast ; 

Haste  there,  and  let  me  in  ; 

My  father  keeps  a  sorry  feast, 

My  mother's  sour  and  thin. 

I've  come  to  change  their  ways  a  bit ; 

Fetch  brandy,  fill  a  bumper  fit ! 


Squire,  I  have  debts  in  yonder  town  ; 

I  fling  the  careless  card  ; 

My  tradesmen  press  their  bills,  and  frown  ; 

My  creditors  are  hard. 

This  world  is  not  a  mother's  breast, 

No  cradle,  for  a  babe  to  rest." 


SIMPLE  TALES.  237 

The  mother  scans  him  in  the  light 

Of  the  oriel  deep  and  wide. 

Where  are  those  curls  and  dimples  bright, 

The  cheek,  her  blushing  pride? 

Whose  touch  could  smooth  that  tangled  hair, 

Now  knotted,  like  a  snaky  snare? 


Nor  this  the  worst :  the  bloodshot  eye  ; 

The  voice  of  scoffing  tone  ; 

The  lips  unsteady,  that  defy 

The  pleading  of  her  own. 

In  grief  she  struggles  and  sinks  down  : 

He  answers  with  a  sullen  frown. 


The  unwilling  gold  is  quickly  brought, 

And,  silent,  counted  out ; 

The  seeker  has  the  boon  he  sought, 

And  flushing  turns  about. 

The  mother  speaks  not  to  deplore  ; 

The  father  whispers,  "  Come  no  more. 


238      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Your  sister's  portion  here  you  take, 
Your  mother's  jointure  too  : 
Though  all  were  beggared  for  your  sake, 
It  would  not  furnish  you." 
"  Oh  !  take  it  all,"  the  mother  cries, 
"And  follows  him  with  streaming  eyes. 


I  know  this  only,  since  that  time 

A  year  or  so  has  past. 

But  seeds  of  misery  and  crime 

Ripen  unearthly  fast. 

The  Hall's  entailed,  that  cannot  go  ; 

But  there  they  keep  with  little  show. 


And  when  I  heard,  three  days  agonc, 

A  young  man  at  the  inn 

Had,  desperate,  shut  himself  alone, 

And  died  the  death  of  sin, 

I  said,  "  The  Squire  has  lost  his  son  ; 

Wife,  there's  a  grave  must  be  begun." 


SIMPLE  TALES.  239 

How  came  this  ?  through  some  hidden  vein 

Of  wildness  in  the  blood, 

That  penitence  and  deadly  pain 

Could  turn  him  not  to  good : 

So,  when  his  drunken  fury  went, 

He  might  not  bear  his  ill-content. 


Old  man  with  burning  eyes  and  hair 

Like  ashes  over  flame, 

Look  not  too  sternly  on  the  heir 

Of  deeper  than  thy  name  : 

Thy  fiery  youth,  its  guilt,  its  gains, 

Ran  their  traditions  in  his  reins. 


Nor  wanted  he  an  angel  friend ; 

Still  in  his  clouded  eyes, 

With  hope  and  promise  run  to  end, 

His  mother's  look  would  rise, 

So  prayer  might  bless  his  parting  breath, 

And  faith,  long  banished,  come  in  death. 


240       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE 


II. 


He  loved  her  long  through  grief  and  pain, 

As  long  she  loved  another. 

Life  was  to  him  her  sole  domain  ; 

He  was  to  her  a  brother. 

When  well  of  love  he  urged  and  spake, 
Tears  on  her  eyelids  glistened  ; 
The  heart  his  wooing  strove  to  wake 
Forsook  him  while  she  listened. 

Thus  in  a  mutual  twofold  search 
Each  deeper  led  the  other. 
She  was  his  wealth,  his  law,  his  church ; 
He  was  to  her  a  brother. 


SIMPLE   TALES.  241 

God  took  him  in  his  early  years, 
Ere  half  his  youth  had  flowered. 
Then  she  beheld  him  through  her  tears 
With  the  heart's  saints  embowered. 

Time  on  her  heart's  high  daring  smiled, 
A  blooming  bridal  made  her, 
And,  clinging  to  a  three-hours'  child, 
In  the  low  furrow  laid  her. 

But  to  my  sight  doth  crowned  appear 
Each  faithful,  fond  endeavor  : 
Ralph  called  her  his,  one  happy  year  ; 
And  Herbert,  his  forever. 


16 


242       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


THE   ROSE   IN   THE  JOURNAL. 

Rose,  whose  matchless  beauty 
Poets  love  to  praise, 
Bind  the  day  that  brought  him 
To  the  other  days  ; 
To  the  homely  duties  ; 
To  the  things  that  are, 
Like  dark  weights  of  nature 
Linked  to  sun  and  star. 

Then  the  curtain  lifted 

Of  the  tent  so  gray 

Showed  him  fresh  and  blooming 

As  careering  Day, 

Ere  his  steeds  are  wearied 

With  the  noontide  heat, 

Ere  the  lengthening  shadows 

Press  his  loitering  feet. 


THE  ROSE  IN  THE  JOURNAL.  243 

Like  an  ADgel's  garment 
Caught  in  fluttering  grasp  ; 
Like  a  kingly  jewel 
Set  in  costliest  clasp  ; 
Like  a  sudden  vision 
Of  the  joys  that  were, 
When  the  shadows  darken 
And  the  end  draws  near, — 

Thus  among  my  treasures, 
Rosebud,  thou  shalt  lie, 
With  thy  beauty  withering 
Only  to  the  eye. 

Roses  grow  immortal 
On  the  brow  of  Fame : 
These,  with  all  best  glories, 
Deathless  keep  thy  name. 


244       POEMS   OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A   DREAM   OF   DISTANCE. 

Coldly  sunk,  as  the  pearl  in  the  wave, 
Is  the  love  I  have  borne  to  thee  : 
Over  its  stillness  the  waters  lave 
Darkly,  silently,  heavily. 

All  the  chances  under  the  sun 
Scarce  can  give  that  the  sunken  pearl 
See  the  light  of  the  star  she  loves, 
Lifted  out  of  the  water's  whirl. 

Of  all  the  chances  under  the  sun, 
For  that  one  I'll  ne'er  seek  nor  pray  : 
Let  me  lie  where  the  tides  move  on  ; 
Thou,  bright  Lucifer,  keep  thy  way  ! 


A  DREAM  OF  DISTANCE.  245 

For  the  mystical  pulse  of  life 
Holds  in  sympathy  divine 
Things  apart,  like  the  star  and  pearl ; 
Things  akin,  like  thy  soul  and  mine. 


246       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


FAME  AND   FRIENDSHIP. 

The  world  doth  name  thee  now,  and  idle  men 
Exalt  their  critic  skill  in  praising  thee  : 
At  all  their  words  my  heart  doth  bound  again  ; 
And  praise  begetteth  praise,  as  this  should  be. 

Yet  I  remember  with  a  jealous  love 
What  time  thine  unmined  wealth  lay  less  in  view ; 
And  I  was  fain  the  envious  clods  to  move, 
And  point  the  hidden  diamonds  clear  as  dew. 

Methought  men's  souls,  unquestioning  of  art, 
Were  then  as  void  of  pulse  as  stock  or  stone  ; 
Yet,  gathering  all  thy  glories  in  my  heart, 
My  slender  trump  uplifted  them  aloue. 


FAME  AXD  FRIENDSHIP.  2-47 

So,  when  the  arena  rings  with  plaudits  loud, 
Hear  ruy  heart's  whisper  through  the  noisy  throng  ; 
And  let  thy  fancies,  running  o'er  the  crowd, 
Pause  where  the  rites  of  gratitude  belong. 


For  I  have  been  a  mother  to  thy  fame, 
Coaxing  with  gentle  touch  the  grasp  of  Fate  ; 
Till,  holding  high  the  blazon  of  thy  name, 
I  cried  to  all  the  world,  "He  shall  he  great!" 


248       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A   WOMAN'S   PRAYER. 

Father  of  great  mercy  !  hear  me  mildly : 
One  I  love  is  tried  and  hindered  sore ; 
For  the  harrows  of  temptation  wildly 
Tear  his  green  and  blooming  purpose  o'er. 

Send  thine  angels,  as  the  Spring  her  beauties 
Rains  on  thorny  branches  wild  and  sear, 
Lighting  up  Life's  worn  and  wintry  duties 
With  the  glories  they  were  made  to  bear. 

Send  them  in  the  panoply  of  heaven 
Like  a  cohort  sheathed  in  burnished  gold ; 
Send  them  thick  as  falling  dews  of  even 
With  soft  arms  to  shelter  and  infold. 


A    WOMAN'S  PRAYER.  249 

Send  them,  while  I  coin  my  life  as  ransom 
For  the  holy  triumph  they  must  win  ; 
Take  the  uncounted  pulses  of  my  bosom  ; 
Keep  the  thing  I  love  from  deadly  sin. 

Slow  the  answer  gathers,  "  Stay  thy  pleading  ; 
From  his  birth  my  help  around  him  lies  : 
He,  the  angel  in  his  breast  unheeding, 
Should  escape  the  legions  of  the  skies." 


250       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


THE   LAST   BIRD. 

Little  Bird  that  singest 
Far  atop  this  warm  December  day, 

Heaven  bestead  thee,  that  thou  wingest, 
Ere  the  welcome  song  is  done,  thy  way 

To  more  certain  weather, 
"Where,  built  high  and  solemnly,  the  skies, 

Shaken  by  no  storm  together, 
Fixed  in  vaults  of  steadfast  sapphire  rise ! 

There  the  smile  that  mocks  us 
Answers  with  its  warm  serenity  ; 

There  the  prison-ice  that  locks  us 
Melts  forgotten  in  a  purple  sea. 


THE  LAST  BIRD.  251 

There  thy  tuneful  brothers, 
In  the  palm's  green  plumage  waiting  long, 

Mate  them  with  the  myriad  others, 
Like  a  broken  rainbow  bound  with  soncr. 


"Winter  scarce  is  hidden, 
Veiled  within  this  fair,  deceitful  sky  : 

Fly,  ere,  from  his  ambush  bidden, 
He  descend  in  ruin  swift  and  ni^h  ! 


By  the  Summer  stately, 
Truant,  thou  wast  fondly  reared  and  bred 

Dost  thou  linger  here  so  lately, 
Knowing  not  thy  beauteous  friend  is  dead, 


Like  to  hearts,  that,  clinging 
Fervent  where  their  first  delight  was  fed, 

Move  us  with  untimely  singing 
Of  the  hopes  whose  blossom-time  is  sped? 


252      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

•* 
Beauties  have  their  hour, 
Safely  perched  on  the  spring-budding  tree  : 

For  the  ripened  soul  is  trust  and  power. 
And  beyond,  the  calm  eternity. 


FAR  JEWELL   TO  HAVANA.  253 


FAREWELL   TO   HAVANA. 

My  sight  is  blank,  my  heart  is  lorn ; 
My  tropic  trance  of  joy  I  mourn,  — 
That  stolen  summer  of  delight, 
Dreamed  on  the  breast  of  wintry  night, 
When  sad,  true  souls  abide  the  North, 
And  we,  love-truants,  issued  forth 
To  find,  with  steady  sail  unfurled, 
The  glowing  centre  of  the  world. 

The  glorious  sights  went  fleeting  by  ; 
I  had  no  hold  on  earth  or  sky  : 
Two  little  hands,  one  helpless  heart, 
Could  claim  and  keep  so  small  a  part. 
A  shadow  of  the  stately  palm  ; 
A  burnish  of  the  noontide  calm  ; 


254       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

A  dream  of  faces  new  and  strange, 

Darkened  and  lit  with  sudden  change  ; 

A  joy  of  flowers  unearthly  fair 

In  giant  Nature's  tangled  hair  ; 

A  joy  of  fruits  of  other  hue 

And  savor  than  my  childhood  knew ; 

A  sorrow,  as  the  vista  grew, 

Longer  and  lesser,  cherished  too  ; 

A  pang  of  parting,  heart-bereft 

Of  all  I  had,  —  is  all  I've  left. 

To  cheer  my  journey  what  remains 
Towards  the  rude  heights  where  Winter  reigns  ? 
What  love-nursed  thought  shall  shield  my  breast 
Warmer  than  cloak  or  sable  vest? 
One  hope  serene  all  comfort  brings,  — 
Who  made  thy  bonds  did  lend  thy  wings  ; 
Who  sends  thee  from  this  faery  reign 
Once  brought  thee  here,  and  may  again. 


A    WILD  NIGHT.  255 


A   WILD   NIGHT. 

The  storm  is  sweeping  o'er  the  land, 

And  raging  o'er  the  sea  : 
It  urgeth  sharp  and  dismal  sounds, 

The  Psalm  of  Misery. 


The  straining  of  the  cordage  now, 

The  creaking  of  a  spar, 
The  deep  dumb  shock  the  vessel  feels 

When  billows  strike  and  jar,  — 


It  breathes  of  distant  seamen's  hearts 
That  think  upon  their  wives  ; 

Of  wretches  clinging  to  the  mast, 
And  wrestling  for  their  lives. 


256       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  clouds  are  flying  through  the  sky 

Like  spectres  of  affright : 
Yon  pale  witch  moon  doth  blast  them  all 

With  bleared  and  ghastly  light. 


Great  Demons  flutter  through  the  dark 
Flame  touched,  with  dusky  wing  ; 

And  Passion  crouches  out  of  si^ht 
Like  a  forbidden  thing. 


The  blast  doth  scourge  the  forest  through, 
Great  oaks,  and  bushes  small ; 

And  God,  the  fable  of  the  fools, 
Looks  silently  on  all. 


Oh  !  if  He  watches,  as  I  know, 
Safe  let  Him  keep  our  rest, 

And  give  my  little  ones  and  me 
The  shelter  of  His  breast. 


A    WILD  NIGHT.  257 

No  harm  shall  come  on  earth,  we  trust ; 

But,  if  mischance  must  be, 
Most  let  him  help  those  weary  souls 

That  struggle  with  the  sea  ! 


17 


258 


POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


BABY'S   SHOES. 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  that  as  we  ascended  the  stair,  at  bedtime, 
we  encountered  the  baby's  shoes,  which  the  mother  kissed,  and  put 
in  her  bosom." 

Little  feet,  pretty  feet, 

Feet  of  fairy  Maud, 
Fair  and  fleet,  trim  and  neat, 

Carry  her  abroad  ! 

Be  as  wings,  tiny  things, 

To  my  butterfly : 
In  the  flowers,  hours  on  hours, 

Let  my  darling  lie. 

Shine  ye  must,  in  the  dust, 

Twinkle  as  she  runs, 
ThreadiDg  a  necklace  gay 

Through  the  summer  suns. 


BABY'S  SHOES.  259 

Stringing  days,  borrowing  phrase, 

Weaving  wondrous  plots, 
With  her  eyes  blue  and  wise 

As  forget-me-nots. 


Like  a  charm  which  doth  arm 
Some  poor  mother's  pain 

For  the  child  dream-beguiled 
She  shall  know  again, 


By  the  pet  amulet 

Kept  through  lonely  years 
Little  shoe,  I  and  you 

Would  not  part  for  tears. 


Cinderel  grown  a  belle, 
Coming  from  her  ball, 

Frightened  much,  let  just  such 
A  tiny  slipper  fall. 


260       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

If  men  knew  as  I  do 

Half  thy  sweets,  my  own, 

They'd  not  delay  another  day, 
I  should  be  alone. 


Come  and  go,  friend  and  foe, 
Fairy  Prince  most  fine  ! 

Take  your  gear  otherwhere  ; 
Maud  is  only  mine. 


MOTHER'S  NONSENSE.  261 


MOTHER'S   XOXSEXSE. 

Where  are  the  eyes  of  the  Lovely  One,  — 
The  sweet  blue  eyes  of  the  Lovely  One  ? 

Oh  !  here  they  shine 

To  comfort  mine, 
The  cloudless  eyes  of  the  Lovely  One. 

Where  are  the  hands  of  the  Lovely  One,  — 
The  tiny  hands  of  the  Lovely  One  ? 

They  grasp  the  air, 

So  small  and  fair, 
Seeking  angel's  fingers,  my  Lovely  One  ! 

Where  is  the  mouth  of  the  Lovely  One,  — 
The  cunning  mouth  of  the  Lovely  One  ? 

I  kiss  it  so, 

It  cannot  say  no, 
The  sweet  wee  mouth  of  the  Lovely  One. 


262       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

And  where  is  the  place  of  the  Lovely  One,  — 
The  happy  place  of  the  Lovely  One  ? 

On  mother's  knee 

High  throneth  he  ; 
And  her  heart  is  the  home  of  the  Lovely  One. 


THE  BABE'S  LESSON.  263 


THE  BABE'S   LESSON. 

I  was  saying  "Ave,  ave," 

Over  a  lost  delight, 
When  Baby,  scarce  five  moonlights  old, 

Looked  up  with  wondering  sight. 

Then  his  untutored  organ 

Caught  up  the  tragic  tone, 
And  with  my  spent  sigh  blended  soft 

A  music  of  its  own. 

I  was  weary  of  my  burthen, 

Desiring  not  to  be  ; 
When  thus  unto  my  thoughts  discoursed 

The  babe  upon  my  knee  : 

"Why,  mother,  sighing  ever? 

What  boots  thy  cherished  woe  ? 
What  matter  through  the  mighty  sea 

If  sweet  or  bitter  flow? 


264       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Behold  thy  gallant  champion, 

New  lighted  from  the  skies  ! 
Strong  arm  and  word,  and  heart  of  cheer, 

Are  in  him,  blossom-wise. 

A  man,  and  he  who  wrongs  me 

Escapes  his  lesson  not ; 
But  who  should  grieve  my  mother's  heart 

Must  dearly  pay  the  scot. 

Then  wait,  thou  silly  mother, 
The  days  till  I  am  grown  : 

Thou  knowest  a  many  heart  like  thine 
Doth  keep  its  watch  alone. 
Set  up  Prayer's  golden  ladder 
That  brings  the  heaven-sent  joy  ; 

And  with  sweet  hope  and  patient  faith 
Nourish  thy  tender  boy." 

"I  will,  I  will,  my  dearest, 
Else  'twere  unblest  to  live  ; 
The  heaven  is  wide  above  our  head, 
And  God  is  free  to  give. 


THE  BABE'S  LESSON.  265 

But  I  was  not  weeping,  baby, 
Nor  raising  a  hand  of  might ; 
I  was  only  saying  Ave 
Over  a  lost  delight." 


266      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


SERVANT   TO   A   WOODEN   CEADLE." 

Come,  visit  the  flowers,  thy  cousins, 
God's  dear  little  lamb,  and  mine  ! 
See  where,  lit  by  one  flaming  crystal, 
The  gems  of  the  greenhouse  shine  ! 
The  leaves  of  this  rose  thou  shalt  scatter 
With  the  strength  of  thine  infant  will : 
Thou  hast  ravished  the  form  of  the  flower, 
See  !  the  heart  keeps  its  sweetness  still. 


The  flowers  have  a  dark,  sad  mother, 
Whose  bosom  is  bare  to  view  ; 
So  they  haste,  in  their  springtide  beauty, 
To  clothe  her  worn  heart  anew. 


"SERVANT  TO  A    WOODEN  CRADLE:'       267 

They  perish  ;  but  she  enclureth, 
To  faint  in  the  Winter's  scorn, 
With  a  life-warmth  buried  within  her 
Through  which  other  Springs  are  born. 

As  the  shadows  dance  hither  and  thither, 
The  gleams  of  thy  consciousness  pass, 
As  a  lamp  wakes  its  fitful  glimmer 
In  the  heart  of  a  sleeping  glass. 
The  shrouded  ghost  of  the  future 
Stands  near,  while  I  hold  thee  fast ; 
And  the  traits  of  my  race  turn  slowly 
My  thoughts  to  the  long-linked  past. 

0  Future  !  what  sorrows  gather 
In  the  folds  of  thy  hanging  veil  ? 
0  Past,  shalt  thou  flower  further 
In  passions  comprest  and  pale? 
O  thou  who  art  past  and  future, 
Thou  Present  of  life  and  soul ! 
We  lift  our  sad  eyes  to  thy  features, 
Our  thoughts  to  thy  great  control. 


268       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Thy  manhood  lies  crouching  within  thee, 
For  the  leap  of  its  coming  years  ; 
Thy  heart  takes  its  long  vibration 
From  the  mother's  fountain  of  tears  ; 
The  helpful  things  and  the  hurtful 
Weave  round  thee  their  waiting  spell : 
Oh  !  look  to  the  God  that  commands  them, 
And  all  shall  be  suffered  well. 


THE   UNWELCOME  MESSAGE.  269 


THE   UNWELCOME   MESSAGE. 

A  dismal  Postman  passes  by,  — 

I  fear  his  sullen  knock  : 
'Twill  strike  a  shiver  through  the  door, 

And  paralyze  the  lock. 


"Plague  not  this  unoffending  house 
It  owes  no  shameful  debt ; 

Nor  guilty  chamber  doth  it  hide 
Where  evil  guests  arc  met. 


Here  gentle  heart  and  gentle  blood 
Their  life-surroundings  bless  ; 

And  days  glide  by  with  happy  toil, 
And  measured  thankfulness. 


270       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  messengers  who  enter  here 
Are  glad  and  bright  of  eye, 

Freighted  with  precious  words  that  stir 
Responsive  minstrelsy." 


"  The  note  is  brief,  the  seal  is  sharp, 

The  characters  are  pale  : 
I  cannot  err  in  their  address  ; 

My  letters  never  fail. 


If  you  the  door  will  not  unbar, 
The  window  answers  well, 

Less  lofty  than  the  turret  where 
I  touch  the  passing  bell. 


When  you  have  read,  the  feast  may  speed, 

The  business,  as  you  list : 
But,  somehow,  where  my  foot  has  stept, 

The  joy  of  joys  is  missed  ; 


THE   UNWELCOME  MESSAGE.  271 

And  on  the  heart  of  working  week 

A  Sabbath  falls  of  rest, 
Unwished  ;  yet  He  who  sends  me  here 

Declares  his  errand  blest." 


272        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


MY   CRUCIFIX. 

Baby  sweet  is  dying,  —  he  is  dying. 
Place  the  crucifix  above  his  head  ; 
It  conveys  a  sympathetic  sighing, 
Tears  of  kindred  with  the  tears  we  shed. 

For  no  succor  from  this  head  anointed 
Do  I  bring  its  sorrow  near  his  pain  : 
Death  must  come  where  dying  is  appointed  ; 
But  this  dead  one  saith,  "  I  live  again." 

Well  I  deem  some  virtue  must  be  hidden 
In  the  hero  heart  that  would  not  die  : 
By  those  firm  lips,  Baby  shall  be  bidden 
To  take  hope,  and  live  immortally. 


A    WINTER   THOUGHT.  27 '3 


A   WESTER   THOUGHT. 

The  flower  of  my  love  is  sleeping, 
Locked  in  his  icy  funeral  mound  : 
The  Frost,  stern  sentinel,  is  keeping 
Earth's  tranced  blossoms  under  ground. 

The  Spring  shall  bring  the  sweet  appearing 
Of  buds,  her  radiant  breath  shall  free  ; 
But  my  heart  blossom,  most  endearing, 
Shall  rest,  a  flower  of  Memory. 

A  sterner  sentinel  is  waiting 
Our  ban  of  severance  to  remove  : 
Death  must  resolve  our  separation, 
Chill  Herald  of  the  Spring  of  Love. 

18 


274      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


SPRING-BLOSSOMS. 

The  little  daisies,  two  by  two, 
The  lilies  wet  with  frosted  dew, 
The  sweet  procession  of  the  Spring 
Carries  my  baby's  offering. 

I  leave  the  thoughts  that  take  his  place, 
Imaginations  winged  in  space, 
And  fold  his  shadow  to  my  breast, 
With  the  dear  lips  that  mine  have  prest. 

Ever  my  introverted  eyes 

Recover  that  past  paradise  ; 

Not  without  hell  pain  shuddered  through 

Where  life  declined,  to  rise  anew. 


:>ING-BL  . 

Oh  !  to  my  darling  carry  this, 
The  old-time  phrase,  the  frequent  k. 
Remind  him  how,  in  his  de 
My  life's  enamel  melts  away. 

Tell  him  my  time  mast  also  come 
To  enter  his  restricted  home, 
Where  my  soul  furnitur-.- 
His  lovelv  immortality. 


276      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

There  was  a  time  when  thy  dear  face  to  ine 
Was  but  a  dream,  with  nameless  pangs  between. 
Three  happy  years  upheld  the  fatal  screen 
Whose  fall  left  blank  and  bitterness  for  thee. 

As  one  who  at  a  gracious  drama  sits, 

And  builds  long  vistas  in  its  magic  ways, 

"  For  this  must  come,  and  this  ; "  and  while  he  stays 

The  end  consigns  him  to  the  silent  streets : 

So  did  I  stand  when  thy  sweet  play  was  done, 
Wondering  what  spell  the  curtain  still  should  hide, 
Waiting  and  weeping,  till  my  saintly  guide 
Took  by  the  hand,  and  pitying  said,  "  Pass  on." 


REMEMBRANCE.  277 

So  thou  art  hid  again,  and  wilt  not  come 
For  any  knocking  at  the  veiled  door  ; 
Nor  mother-pangs,  nor  nature,  can  restore 
The  heart's  delight  and  blossom  of  thy  home. 

And  I  with  others,  in  the  outer  court, 

Must  sadly  follow  the  excluding  will, 

In  painful  admiration  of  the  skill 

Of  God,  who  speaks  his  sweetest  sentence  short. 


278       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


LITTLE   ONE. 

My  dearest  boy,  my  sweetest ! 
For  paradise  the  meetest ; 
The  child  that  never  grieves  me, 
The  love  that  never  leaves  me  ; 
The  lamb  by  Jesu  tended  ; 
The  shadow,  star  befriended ; 
In  Winter's  woe  and  straining, 
The  blossom  still  remaining. 

Days  must  not  find  me  sitting 
Where  shadows  dim  are  flitting 
Across  the  grassy  measure 
That  hides  my  buried  treasure, 
Nor  bent  with  tears  and  sighing, 
More  prone  than  thy  down-lying : 


LITTLE  ONE.  279 

I  have  a  freight  to  carry, 
A  goal,  —  I  must  not  tarry. 

If  men  would  garlands  give  me, 
If  steadfast  hearts  receive  me, 
Their  homage  I'd  surrender 
For  one  embrace  most  tender  ; 
One  kiss,  with  sorrow  in  it, 
To  hold  thee  but  one  minute, 
One  word,  our  tie  recalling, 
Beyond  the  gulf  appalling. 

Since  God's  device  doth  take  thee, 
My  fretting  should  forsake  thee  ; 
For  many  a  mother  borrows 
Her  comfort  from  the  sorrows 
Her  vanished  darling  misses, 
Transferred  to  heavenly  blisses. 
But  I  must  ever  miss  thee, 
Must  ever  call  and  kiss  thee, 
With  thy  sweet  phantom  near  me, 
And  only  God  to  hear  me. 


280       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  pomp  with  which  I  mourn  thee, 
I  who  have  proudly  borne  thee, 
Is  not  of  weary  sables, 
Nor  unsubstantial  fables ; 
While  thou,  in  white  apparel, 
And  crowned,  above  my  laurel, 
Passest  from  my  discerning 
To  more  transcendent  learning. 

When  thou  wert  taken  from  me, 
Did  better  art  become  me, 
And  painful  satisfaction 
Wrung  from  some  noblest  action. 
I  mourn  in  simpler  praying, 
More  work  and  less  delaying, 
In  hope  enforced  that  mellows 
The  crudeness  of  thy  fellows, 
Who,  past  thy  lovely  season, 
Attempt  the  wars  of  Reason  ; 
I  mourn  thee  with  endeavor 
That  loves  and  grieves  forever. 


CHOPIN.  281 


CHOPIN. 

We  saw  him  in  the  death-nest  laid  ; 
His  wings  were  folded,  sad  and  still ; 
The  glowing  tropic  of  his  breast 
Endured  no  more  Life's  winter  chill. 

But  now,  through  Fancy's  clouded  gate, 
He  walks  with  Nature's  spirit-kings  ; 
The  sceptre  in  his  palsied  hands 
Strikes  rapture  at  her  deepest  springs. 

His  life  was  like  an  opal  gem 

That  breaks  in  many  a  painful  thrill : 

The  risen  rainbow  of  his  soul 

The  heaven  of  song  i3  spanning  still ; 


282       PQEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

While  happy  Love  and  Grief  sublime 
Unite  their  emblems  on  his  brow, 
And  pave  with  zeal  his  shadowy  court,  — 
A  Lover  once,  a  Master  now. 


HAMLET  AT  THE  BOSTON.  283 


HAMLET  AT   THE   BOSTON. 

We  sit  before  the  row  of  evening  lamps, 

Each  in  his  chair, 
Forgetful  of  November  clews  and  damps, 

And  wintry  air. 

A  little  gulf  of  music  intervenes, 

A  bridge  of  sighs, 
Where  still  the  cunning  of  the  curtain  screens 

Art's  paradise. 

My  thought  transcends  these  viols'  shrill  delight, 

The  booming  bass, 
And,  towards  the  regions  we  shall  view  to-night, 

Makes  hurried  pace. 


284       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

The  painted  castle,  and  the  unneeded  guard 

That  ready  stand ; 
The  harmless  Ghost,  that  walks  with  helm  unbarred 

And  beckoning  hand. 


And  beautiful  as  dreams  of  maidenhood, 

That  doubt  defy, 
Young  Hamlet,  with  his  forehead  grief-subdued, 

And  visioning  eye. 


O  fair  dead  world,  that  from  thy  grave  awak'st 

A  little  while, 
And  in  our  heart  strange  revolution  mak'st 

With  thy  brief  smile  ! 


O  beauties  vanished,  fair  lips  magical, 

Heroic  braves ! 
O  mighty  hearts,  that  held  the  world  in  thrall ! 

Come  from  your  graves  ! 


HAJILET  AT  THE  BOSTOX.  285 

The  poet  sees  you  through  a  mist  of  tears,  — 

Such  depths  divide 
Him,  with  the  love  and  passion  of  his  years, 

From  you,  inside  ! 


The  poet's  heart  attends  your  buskined  feet, 

Your  lofty  strains, 
Till  earth's  rude  touch  dissolves  that  madness  sweet. 

And  life  remains  : 


Life  that  is  something  while  the  senses  heed 

The  spirit's  call ; 
Life  that  is  nothing  when  our  grosser  need 

Ingulfs  it  all. 


And  thou,  young  hero  of  this  mimic  scene, 

In  whose  high  breast 
A  genius  greater  than  thy  life  hath  been 

Strangely  comprest  ! 


286       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Wearst  thou  those  glories  draped  about  thy  soul 

Thou  dost  present? 
And  art  thou  by  their  feeling  and  control 

Thus  eloquent? 


'Tis  with  no  feigned  power  thou  bind'st  our  sense, 

No  shallow  art ; 
Sure,  lavish  Nature  gave  thee  heritance 

Of  Hamlet's  heart ! 


Thou  dost  control  our  fancies  with  a  might 

So  wild,  so  fond, 
We  quarrel,  passed  thy  circle  of  delight, 

With  things  beyond ; 


Returning  to  the  pillows  rough  with  care, 

And  vulgar  food, 
Sad  from  the  breath  of  that  diviner  air, 

That  loftier  mood. 


HAMLET  AT  THE  BOSTON.  287 

And  there  we  leave  thee,  in  thy  misty  tent 

Watching  alone ; 
While  foes  about  thee  gather  imminent, 

To  us  scarce  known. 

Oh,  when  the  lights  are  quenched,  the  music  hushed, 

The  plaudits  still, 
Heaven  keep  the  fountain,  whence  the  fair  stream 
gushed, 

From  choking  ill ! 

Let  Shakspeare's  soul,  that  wins  the  world  from  wrong, 

For  thee  avail, 
And  not  one  holy  maxim  of  his  song 

Before  thee  fail ! 

So  get  thee  to  thy  couch  as  unreproved 

As  heroes  blest ; 
And  all  good  angels,  trusted  in  and  loved, 

Attend  thy  rest ! 


288       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


IN   MY   VALLEY 

From  the  hurried  city  fleeing, 
From  the  dusty  men  and  ways, 
In  my  golden  sheltered  valley, 
Count  I  yet  some  sunny  days. 


Golden,  for  the  ripened  Autumn 
Kindles  there  its  yellow  blaze  ; 
And  the  fiery  sunshine  haunts  it 
Like  a  ghost  of  summer  days. 


Walking  where  the  running  water 
Twines  its  silvery  caprice, 
Treading  soft  the  leaf-spread  carpet, 
I  encounter  thoughts  like  these  :  — 


IN  MY  VALLEY.  289 

"  Keep  but  heart,  and  healthful  courage, 
Keep  the  ship  against  the  sea, 
Thou  shalt  pass  the  dangerous  quicksands 
That  insnare  Futurity ; 


Thou  shalt  live  for  song  and  story, 
For  the  service  of  the  pen  ; 
Shalt  survive  till  children's  children 
Bring  thee  mother-joys  again. 


Thou  hast  many  years  to  gather  ; 
And  these  falling  years  shall  bring 
The  benignant  fruits  of  Autumn, 
Answering  to  the  hopes  of  Spring. 


Passing  where  the  shades  that  darkened 
Grow  transfigured  to  thy  mind, 
Thou  shalt  go  with  soul  untroubled 
To  the  mysteries  behind  ; 

19 


290       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Pass  unmoved  the  silent  portal 
Where  beatitude  begins, 
With  an  equal  balance  bearing 
Thy  misfortunes  and  thy  sins." 

Treading  soft  the  leaf-spread  carpet, 
Thus  the  Spirits  talked  with  me  ; 
And  I  left  my  valley,  musing 
On  their  gracious  prophecy. 

To  my  fiery  youtn's  ambition 
Such  a  boon  were  scarcely  dear  : 
"  Thou  shalt  live  to  be  a  grandame, 
Work  and  die,  devoid  of  fear." 

"  Now,  as  utmost  grace  it  steads  me, 
Add  but  this  thereto,"  I  said : 
"  On  the  Matron's  time-worn  mantle 
Let  the  Poet's  wreath  be  laid." 


ENDEAVOR.  291 


ENDEAVOR. 

"  "What  bast  thou  for  thy  scattered  seed, 

O  Sower  of  the  plain  ? 
Where  are  the  many  gathered  sheaves 

Thy  hope  should  bring  again  ?  " 
"  The  only  record  of  my  work 

Lies  in  the  buried  grain." 

"  O  Conqueror  of  a  thousand  fields  ! 

In  dinted  armor  dight, 
What  growths  of  purple  amaranth 

Shall  crown  thy  brow  of  might  ?  " 
"  Only  the  blossom  of  my  life 

Flung  widely  in  the  fight." 


292 


POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

"  What  is  the  harvest  of  thy  saints, 

0  God  !  who  dost  abide  ? 
Where  grow  the  garlands  of  thy  chiefs 

In  blood  and  sorrow  dyed  ? 
What  have  thy  servants  for  their  pains?" 

"  This  only,  — to  have  tried." 


MEDITATION.  293 


MEDITATION. 


Whether  the  aim  I  keep  is  right, 
So  far  removed  from  sense  and  sight, 
While  half  the  goods  that  mortals  prize 
Lie  hidden  from  my  dream-bound  eyes, 
And  others  watch  with  subtler  skill 
To  please  the  toy-bent  human  will  ? 

For  this  one  passions  with  her  glance  ; 
And  this  one  weaves  her  swift  romance  ; 
And  this  in  steadfast  marble  leaves 
The  passing  bloom  the  moment  gives  ; 
And  this  one  mints  the  golden  coin, 
Attendant  on  each  glad  design, 
And  in  her  state  well  pleased  doth  ride 
Through  streets  that  saw  the  Tarquin's  pride 


294       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

While  I  plod  cheerless  after  thee, 
Thou  unattained  Philosophy. 

For  me  no  crowd  admiring  waits, 
Nor  lettered  venture  tempts  the  Fates, 
Nor  hangs  my  work  on  princely  walls. 
Nor  title  proud  my  merit  calls, 
Nor  I  and  marble  shall  be  wed 
Except  above  my  funeral  bed. 
Only  my  diagrams  I  know  ; 
And  even  these  make  greater  show 
Than  thou,  O  mistress  !  dost  allow, 
Pent  inward  by  a  silent  vow. 

But  this  I  boast,  —  a  simpler  need, 
That  leaves  untrammelled  time  to  read 
The  sentence  of  a  loftier  book 
Than  aught  that  Gain  and  Rumor  brook  ; 
The  thrifty  urging  of  the  morn 
That  waits  on  nations  newly  born, 
Bestowing  promise  more  divine 
Than  checkered  gold  at  day's  decline  ; 


MEDITATION.  295 


Faith  that  permits  and  passes  growth, 
Embracing  God  and  Nature  both. 


The  rainbow  helps  us  from  the  storm ; 
But  skies  serene  are  uniform. 
Though  colored  gems  be  fair,  the  white 
Doth  keep  the  undivided  light. 
The  garden  shows  its  radiant  prism, 
The  lily  hides  her  golden  chrism, 
And  Truth  and  Peace  are  goods  sincerG 
That  fix  the  source  of  comforts  near. 


296        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


MEDITATION. 

II. 

Sublime  and  poor  the  bards  of  old 
Their  heavenly  message  heard  and  told, 
Sequestered  from  the  human  crowd, 
Who  heed  but  warnings  large  and  loud. 

Nor  velvet  robe  the  prophet  had, 

In  homely  garments  bound  and  clad  ; 

Nor  dainty  table  gave  them  seat 

"Who  with  the  gods  might  take  their  meat. 


But  Jesus  poorest  was  of  all ; 
Tended  with  oxen  in  the  stall ; 
From  narrow  bounds  of  household  rule 
Devising  his  immortal  school ; 


MEDITATION.  297 

While  mother's  toil  and  father's  thrift 
His  weighty  problems  did  uplift ; 
And  this  one's  work,  and  that  one's  wine, 
Were  moulded  into  types  divine. 
The  needy  fishers  were  his  friends, 
Unlearned  companions  in  his  ends  ; 
And  stripe,  and  shame,  and  felon  tree 
Aided  his  deathless  victory. 


So,  Soul,  be  steadfast  in  thy  lot, 
In  marble  shade  or  rustic  cot  : 
Permit  the  wealth  the  Fates  bestow, 
But  in  its  void  no  pining  know. 


The  richest  human  treasury, 
The  mine  of  thought,  to  all  is  free. 
Let  Pleasure  mix  her  shallow  drink 
While  twines  Desert  the  iron  link 
Whose  firmness,  over  time  and  space, 
Transmits  the  virtue  of  the  race. 


298       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Though  fortunes  fail,  and  prospects  frown. 
May  Duty  keep  her  matchless  crown, 
Nor  Desolation  bid  depart 
The  glories  of  a  guileless  heart. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  REST.  299 


THE   HOUSE   OF   REST. 

I  will  build  a  house  of  rest, 
Square  the  corners  every  one  : 
At  each  angle  on  his  breast 
Shall  a  cherub  take  the  sun  ; 
Rising,  risen,  sinking,  down, 
Weaving  day's  unequal  crown. 

In  the  chambers,  light  as  air, 
Shall  responsive  footsteps  fall : 
Brother,  sister,  art  thou  there? 
Hush  !  we  need  not  jar  nor  call 
Need  not  turn  to  seek  the  face 
Shut  in  rapture's  hiding-place. 


300      POEMS   OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Heavy  load  and  mocking  care 
Shall  from  back  and  bosom  part ; 
Thought  shall  reach  the  thrill  of  prayer, 
Patience  plan  the  dome  of  art. 
None  shall  praise  or  merit  claim, 
Not  a  joy  be  called  by  name. 


With  a  free,  unmeasured  tread 
Shall  we  pace  the  cloisters  through  : 
Rest,  enfranchised,  like  the  Dead  ; 
Rest  till  Love  be  born  anew. 
Weary  Thought  shall  take  his  time, 
Free  of  task-work,  loosed  from  rhyme. 


No  reproof  shall  grieve  or  chill ; 
Every  sin  doth  stand  confest ; 
None  need  murmur,  "  This  was  ill : 
Therefore  do  they  grant  us  rest ; 
Contemplation  making  whole 
Every  ruin  of  the  soul. 


THE  HOUSE   OF  BEST.  301 

Pictures  shall  as  softly  look 
As  in  distance  shows  delight  ; 
Slowly  shall  each  saintly  book 
Turn  its  pages  in  our  sight ; 
Not  the  study's  wealth  confuse, 
Urging  zeal  to  pale  abuse. 


Children  through  the  windows  peep, 
Not  reproachful,  though  our  own  ; 
Hushed  the  parent  passion  deep, 
And  the  household's  eager  tone. 
One  above,  divine  and  true, 
Makes  us  children  like  to  you. 


Measured  bread  shall  build  us  up 
At  the  hospitable  board  ; 
In  Contentment's  golden  cup 
Is  the  guileless  liquor  poured. 
May  the  beggar  pledge  the  king 
In  that  spirit  gathering. 


302       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Oh  !  my  house  is  far  away  ; 
Yet  it  sometimes  shuts  me  in. 
Imperfection  mars  each  day 
While  the  perfect  works  begin. 
In  the  house  of  labor  best 
Can  I  build  the  house  of  rest. 


A    VISIT  TO   C.  H.  303 


A  VISIT   TO   C.   H. 

Let  us  sit  with  you,  sister,  before  the  low  fire, 
The  scanty  rag-carpet  sufficing  our  feet : 
You  cannot  command,  and  we  need  not  require, 
The  window  well  shaded  and  soft-cushioned  seat. 

The  children  of  pride  scarcely  come  to  your  door, 
And  we  who  have  catered  walk  not  in  their  ways  ; 
But  experience  brings  to  the  rich  and  the  poor 
One  value  abiding  in  life's  changeful  days. 

You  are  homely  in  breeding  ?  Some  one  of  your  race 
Had  a  spark  of  high  blood,  to  immortals  akin  : 
You  are  loath  to  be  seen  in  this  desolate  place  ? 
What  honor  may  lack  where  the  Muse  is  within  ? 


304      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

A  presence  I  feel  in  the  God-lightened  air, 

The  spell  of  the  art  I  have  followed  so  Ion*  ■ 

In  your  calico  garment  and  rough-twisted  hair 

Let  us  speak  of  your  queendom,  poor  sister  of  sono-. 


For,  well  may  we  know  it,  the  tap  that  you  hear, 
When  you  lay  down  the  needle,  and  take  up  the  pen, 
Is  the  summons  august  that  the  highest  revere, 
The  greatest  that  visits  the  children  of  men. 


The  fountain  of  song  in  your  bosom  arose 
When  the  small  baby  pillow  was  tenantless  left  ? 
You  share  with  all  mortals  life's  burthen  of  woes 
But  all  have  not  music,  when  grieved  and  bereft. 


You  dream  o  er  the  wash-tub,  strive  vainly  to  fix 
Your  thought  on  the  small  household  matter  in  hand? 
Some  spices,  no  doubt,  in  your  condiments  mix, 
Some  flavors  your  neighbors  can  scarcely  command. 


a  visit  to  a.  ii.  305 

The  world  is  so  hard,  and  the  world  is  so  cold  ? 

And  the  dear  -  bought  deliverance  comes  scanty  and 

slow? 
Say,  whether  is  better,  —  its  frosts  to  behold, 
Or  to  share  its  heart  winter,  and  shed  no  more  glow  ? 

I  have  found  a  rich  blossom  astray  on  the  heath  ; 
In  sordid  surroundings,  an  altar  of  love  ; 
Or  lashed  in  a  cart,  beyond  beauty  and  breath, 
The  steed  that  should  carry  the  bidding  of  Jove. 

The  town  that  hums  near  us  has  rich  folk,  besure, — 
Its  man  of  the  Congress,  its  Mayor  with  his  state, 
Its  lords  of  the  spindle  who  pillage  the  poor, 
Its  pampered  young  people  who  quarrel  and  mate. 

But  not  for  their  scanning  I  come  here  to-day  ; 
The  rich  and  the  proud  are  forever  the  same  : 
My  feet,  poet  sister,  have  found  out  this  way, 
Unsought  and  unsummoned,  your  kinship  to  claim. 

20 


306       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE  BRYANT  CHAPLET. 

Friends  who  greet  the  crowned  Poet,  who  detain  the 

passing  year 
With  the  love  that  knows  no  passing,  I  attend  your 

summons  here. 
Had  ye  suffered  me  in  silence,  I  had  thanked  your 

courteous  grace ; 
Happier  yet,  in  rites  so  cordial,  to  have  utterance  and 

place. 

In  your  city  rows  palatial  has  a  mansion  stood  apart, 
Not    in  aspect   nor  pretension,   single  in  its   saintly 

heart : 
When  the  tides  of  greed  and  traffic  swept  the  limits 

of  the  town, 
'Twas  a  citadel  of  virtue,  and  a  shrine  of  pure  renown. 


LEAF  FROM  THE  BRYANT  CHAP  LET.       307 

There  the  Muse  that  knew  Anacreon,  that  made  Roman 
Horace  great, 

Shunning  Caesar's  jewelled  favors,  at  the  modest  fire- 
side sate, 

Lit  the  wintry  coals  with  splendor,  turned  the  deep 
historic  page, 

Held  the  burning  lamp  of  Fancy  to  the  problems  of 
the  age. 

When  the  great   ideas  came  singly  to   the   crowded 

market-place, 
Looking  wanly  for  a  welcome  in  each  money-getting 

face, 
And  the  high  police  of  fashion  urged  the  vagrants  to 

give  room, 
They,  our  Chief  of  song  encountering,  grew  speedily 

at  home. 

He   had   many  a  measure  for  us :  at  his   forge   he 

wrought  twofold, 
On  the  iron  shield  of  Freedom,  and  the  poet's  links  of 

gold. 


308       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

All  the  while  a  song  was  singing,  others  better  knew 

than  he ; 
For    the    even    stanzas    of    his    life    made    subtlest 

melody. 

He  was  a  veteran  leader  ere  his  forehead  gained  its 
snows  ; 

And  still  before  the  pilgrim  flock  his  silver  summons 
goes. 

No  wild  and  desert  waste  he  brings,  with  lurid  day 
and  night, 

But  pastures  of  serenity,  and  founts  of  clear  de- 
light. 

We  have  journeyed  far  to  praise  him  ;  let  us  also  praise 

the  hour 
For  the  travail  throes  of  Conscience,  and  the  newest 

birth  of  power ; 
Let  us  praise  the  faultless  victims,  and  the  living,  who 

have  bent 
O'er  the  wealth  of  nature  ravished,  with  a  terrible 

consent. 


LEAF  FROM  THE  BRYANT  CHAPLET.        309 

For  Sorrow  from  the  city  to  the  martial  camp  has  fled, 
To  hunt,  with  her  funereal  torch,  the  features  of  the 

dead. 
Another  and  another  son  the  sheaf  of  Fate  doth  bind, 
But  nothing  of  the  thoughts  of  God,  or  hope  of  human 

kind. 

Resurrection  in  the  valley  !  resurrection  on  the  shore  ! 
When  great  Justice  is  established,  we  shall  have  our 

own  once  more  ; 
Not  like  us,  unfixed,  inconstant  in  our  issues  great  and 

small, 
But  a  phalanx  set  in  marble  for  the  future's  judgment 

call. 

Long  remain  the  noble  Poet,  priceless  hostage  of  our 

love  ! 
Vainly  floats  the  winged  message  from  the  banquet 

halls  of  Jove, 
Vainly  voices  from  Valhalla  name  the  champion  of  the 

free  : 
He  has  pagans  yet  to  utter,  he  must  crown  our  victory. 


310      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

When  the  moment  comes  to  claim  him  that  must  come 

to  claim  us  all, 
Hearts  that  cherish  human  longings  will  be  darkened 

by  his  fall ; 
But  immortal  Truth  shall  welcome  her  adorer  to  her 

breast, 
Saying,  "  Things  are  changed  between  us  now.     On 

earth  I  was  thy  guest." 


HENRY  WILSON'S  SILVER    WEDDING.       311 


HENRY   WILSON'S   SILVER   WEDDING. 

The  ancients  had  an  age  of  gold, 
To  silver  thence  descending, 

While  yet  in  baser  metal  told 
The  series  had  its  ending. 

The  golden  lime  bore  men  divine  ; 

The  silver,  men  heroic  ; 
The  brazen  did  to  deeds  decline, 

Rebuked  of  sage  and  stoic. 

The  mystic  trine  by  Plato  cast 
Was  thus  reversed  from  Nature  : 

The  gold  was  in  the  unknown  Past, 
Not  in  the  unknown  Future. 


312       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Our  country  knows  the  age  of  brass, 

Whose  wary  politician 
Digs  in  that  ore  the  steps  that  pass 

To  recognized  position. 

But  Wilson,  from  the  lowlier  base 
The  silver  vantage  gaining, 

Climbs  ever  towards  the  golden  grace, 
With  labor  uncomplaining. 

Well  may  the  country  thrive  like  him 
To  whom  her  heart's  beholden,  — 

His  Present's  Silver  never  dim, 
His  Future  always  Goldeu  ! 


THE  NEW  EXODUS.  313 


THE   NEW   EXODUS. 

"  Forsake  this  flowery  garden  ! "  the  frowning  Angel 

said ; 
"  Its  vines  no  more  may  feed  thee,  compel  from  stones 

thy  bread ; 
Pursue  the  veins  deep  buried  that  hide  thy  wine  and 

oil; 
Fruit  shalt  thou  find  with  sorrow,  and  children  rear  in 

toil." 

Oh !    not  in   heathen  vengeance    the   winged  apostle 

spoke ; 
Nor  savage  retribution  the  blooming  fetters  broke. 
Man  had  an  arm   for  labor,   a  strength  to   conquer 

pain, 
A  brain  to  plot  and  study,  a  will  to  serve  and  reign. 


314       POEJtS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

That  will  with  slow  arraying  confronts  itself  with  fate, 
The  pair  unconscious  twining  the  arches  of  the  State. 
Earth  keeps  her  fairest  garlands  to  crown  the  tireless 

spade ; 
The  fields  are  white  with  harvest,  the  hireling's  fee  is 

paid. 

From  tented  field  to  city,  to  palace,  and  to  throne, 
Man  builds  with  work  his  kingdom,  and  makes  the 

world  his  own. 
All  welded  with  conditions  is  empire's  golden  ring : 
The  king  must  keep  the  peasant,  the  peasant  feed  the 

king. 

The  word  of  God  once  spoken,  from  truth  is  never 

lost; 
The  high  command   once   given,  earth  guards  with 

jealous  cost. 
By   this   perplexing   lesson,  men    build    their    busy 

schemes  : 
u  The  way  of  comfort  lies  not,  kind  Eden,  through  thy 

dreams." 


TEE  NEW  EXODUS.  315 

I  see  a  land  before  me,  where  manhood  in  its -pride 
Forgot  the  solemn  sentence,  the  wage  of  toil  denied  : 
«  To  wealth  and  lofty  statioa  some  royal  road  must  be  ; 
Our   brother,   bound    and   plundered,   shall    earn    us 
luxury. 

One  half  of  knowledge  give  him  for  service  and  for 

skill, 
The  nobler  half  withholding,  that  moulds  the  manly 

will : 
From  justice  bar  his  pleadings,  from  mercy  keep  his 

prayers ; 
His  daughters  for  our  pleasure,  his  sons  to  serve  our 

heirs." 

Again  the  frowning  Angel  commandeth  to  depart, 
With  fiery  scourge  of  terror,  with  want  and  woe  of 

heart : 
«  Go  forth  !  the  earth  is  weary  to  bear  unrighteous 

feet ; 
Release  your  false  possession  ;  go,  work  that  ye  may 

eat. 


316       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

Bring  here  the  light  of  knowledge,  the  scale  of  equal 
rule  ; 

Bring   the    Republic's   weapons,   the  forum   and   the 

school  : 
The  Dagon  of  your  worship  is  broken  on  his  shrine  ; 
The  palm  of  Christian  mercy  brings  in  the  true  divine." 

So  from  your  southern  Eden  the  flaming  sword  doth 

drive  ; 
Your  lesson  is  appointed ;    go,  learn   how   workmen 

thrive  ! 
Not  sloth  has  fee  of  plenty,  nor  pride  of  stately  crest ; 
But   thou   of  God  beloved,  O    Labor  crowned  with 
rest ! 


PARRICIDE.  317 


PARRICIDE. 

O'er  the  warrior  gauntlet  grim 
Late  the  silken  glove  we  drew, 
Bade  the  watch-fires  slacken  dim 
In  the  dawn's  auspicious  hue. 

Staid  the  armed  heel ; 

Still  the  clanging  steel ; 
Joys  unwonted  thrilled  the  silence  through. 

Glad  drew  near  the  Easter  tide  ; 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  anew 
Turned  to  Him  who  spotless  died 
For  the  peace  that  none  shall  rue. 

Out  of  mortal  pain 

This  abiding  strain 
Issued  :  "  Peace,  my  peace,  I  give  to  you." 


318      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE, 

Musing  o'er  the  silent  strings, 
By  their  apathy  opprest, 
Waiting  for  the  spirit-wings, 
To  be  toucned  and  soul-possessed, 

"lam  dull,"  I  said: 

"  Treason  is  not  dead  ; 
Still  in  ambush  lurks  that  shivering  guest." 

Then  a  woman's  shriek  of  fear 

Smote  us  in  its  arrowy  flight ; 

And  a  wonder  wild  and  drear 

Did  the  hearts  of  men  unite. 
Has  the  seed  of  crime 
Reached  its  flowering-time, 

That  it  shoots  to  this  audacious  height? 

Then,  as  frosts  the  landscape  change, 
Stiffening  from  the  summer's  glow, 
Grew  the  jocund  faces  strange, 
Lay  the  loftiest  emblem  low  : 

Kings  are  of  the  past, 

Suffered  still  to  last; 
These  twin  crowns  the  present  did  bestow. 


PARRICIDE.  319 

Fair  assassin,  murder  white, 
With  thy  serpent  speed  avoid 
Each  unsullied  household  light, 
Every  conscience  unalloyed. 

Neither  heart  nor  home 

Where  good  angels  come 
Suffer  thee  in  nearness  to  abide. 

Slanderer  of  the  gracious  brow, 
The  untiring  blood  of  youth, 
Servant  of  an  evil  vow, 
Of  a  crime  that  beggars  ruth, 

Treason  was  thy  dam, 

Wolfling,  when  the  Lamb, 
The  Anointed,  met  thy  venomed  tooth. 

With  the  righteous  did  he  fall, 
With  the  sainted  doth  he  lie  ; 
While  the  gibbet's  vultures  call 
Thee,  that,  'twixt  the  earth  and  sky, 

Disavowed  of  both 

In  their  Godward  troth, 
Thou  mayst  make  thy  poor  amend,  and  die. 


320      POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

If  it  were  my  latest  breath, 
Doomed  his  bloody  end  to  share, 
I  would  brand  thee  with  his  death 
As  a  deed  beyond  despair. 

Since  the  Christ  was  lost 

For  a  felon's  cost, 
None  like  thee  of  vengeance  should  beware. 

Leave  the  murderer,  noble  song, 
Helpless  in  the  toils  of  fate : 
To  the  just  thy  meeds  belong, 
To  the  martyr,  to  the  state. 

When  the  storm  beats  loud 

Over  sail  and  shroud, 
Tunefully  the  seaman  cheers  his  mate. 

Never  tempest  lashed  the  wave 
But  to  leave  it  fresher  calm  ; 
Never  weapon  scarred  the  brave 
But  their  blood  did  purchase  balm. 

God  hath  writ  on  high 

Such  a  victory 
As  uplifts  the  nation  with  its  psalm. 


PARRICIDE.  321 

Honor  to  the  heart  of  love, 
Honor  to  the  peaceful  will, 
Slow  to  threaten,  strong  to  move, 
Swift  to  render  good  for  ill ! 

Glory  crowns  his  end, 

And  the  captive's  friend 
From  his  ashes  makes  us  freemen  still. 


21 


322        POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


PARDON. 

Pains  the  sharp  sentence  the  heart  in  whose  wrath  it 
was  uttered, 

Now  thou  art  cold  ; 
Vengeance,  the  headlong,  and  Justice,  with  purpose 
close  muttered, 

Loosen  their  hold. 

Death  brings  atonement ;  he  did  that  whereof  ye  accuse 
him,  — 

Murder  accurst ; 
But,  from  that  crisis  of  crime  in  which  Satan  did  lose 
him, 

Suffered  the  worst. 

Harshly  the  red  dawn  arose  on  a  deed  of  his  doing, 

Never  to  mend ; 
But  harsher  days  he  wore  out  in  the  bitter  pursuing 

And  the  wild  end. 


PARDON.  323 

So  lift  the  pale  flag  of  truce,  wrap  those    mysteries 
round  him, 

In  whose  avail 
Madness  that  moved,  and  the  swift  retribution  that 
found  him, 

Falter  and  fail. 

So   the    soft    purples    that    quiet   the    heavens    with 
mourning, 

Trilling  to  fall, 
Lend  him  one  fold,  his  illustrious  victim  adorning 
•    With  wider  pall. 

Back  to  the  cross,  where  the  Saviour  uplifted  in  dying 

Bade  all  souls  live, 
Turns   the  reft   bosom   of   Nature,  his    mother,  low 
sighing, 

Greatest,  forgive  ! 


324       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 


WELCOME. 

They  are  coming,  O  our  brothers  !  they  are  coming ; 
From  the  formless  distance  creeps  the  growing  sound, 
Like  a  rill-fed  torrent,  in  whose  rapid  summing 
Stream  doth  follow  stream,  till  waves  of  joy  abound. 

These  have  languished  in  the  shadow  of  the  prison, 
Long  with  hunger  pains  and  bitter  fever  low  : 
Welcome  back  our  lost,  from  living  graves  arisen, 
From  the  wild  despite  and  malice  of  the  foe. 

These  have  heard  the  cannon  roar,  the  musket  rattle  ; 
Where  grim  death  affronted,  these  have  flown  before  : 
Set  their  standards  in  the  fiery  tide  of  battle 
Till  the  red  waves  parted,  and  the  right  went  o'er. 


WELCOME.  325 

As  the  Genii  of  the  clouds  refresh  with  water 
Plants  and  precious  seeds  that  bear  the  life  of  States, 
These  have  poured  their  blood  in  meadows  sown  with 

slaughter, 
Where  the  harvest  of  the  Land's  redemption  waits. 

Haste,  ye  mothers  !  let  your  household  vigils  slacken  ; 

In  your  glad  attire  arrayed,  go  banded  forth : 

For  these   martial   men,   these   ranks   the   sun  doth 

blacken, 
Are  your  babes  indeed,  the  jewels  of  the  North. 

By  the  loves  ye  prize  and  live  for,  ask  that  never 
Need  so  sore  again  the  heart  of  home  invade  : 
Neither  brazen  trump,  nor  wires  that  wail  and  quiver, 
Bid  you  yield  the  living,  and  take  back  the  dead. 

Better  let  them  build  who  rear  the  house  of  nations 
Than  that  Fate  should  rock  it  to  foundation  stone : 
Leave  the  earth  her  storms,  the  stars  their  perturba- 
tions, 
Steadfast  welfare  stays  where  Justice  binds  her  zone* 


326       POEMS  OF  STUDY  AND  EXPERIENCE. 

When  the  human  faults  that  mix  in  human  labor 
Miss  the  measure  set  to  caution  and  constrain, 
Let  the  wise  of  heart  instruct  his  ruder  neighbor, 
Let  the  loving  soul  hold  violence  in  chain. 

But  when  Falsehood  lifts  her  challenge  cry  stupendous, 
When  the  fiery  angel  bars  our  gates  of  bliss, 
Ask  the  holy  heavens  such  hosts  again  to  lend  us, 
With  such  leaders,  such  a  righteous  cause  as  this. 


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The  Age  of  Chivalry; 

OR, 

LEGENDS     OF     KING     ARTHUR. 

By  Thomas  Bulfinch. 

illustrated. 

"To  understand  Tennyson's  Poems,  one  must  have  a  complete  knowledge  of  this 
book." 
Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  in  one  volume. 

Muslin,  extra ,  #3-oo 

Half-morocco 5.00 

Half-calf 5.00 

Morocco,  antique 6.00 

The  Age  of  Fable  ; 

OR, 

beauties   of    mythology. 

By  Thomas  Bulfinch. 
illustrated. 

Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  in  one  volume. 

Muslin,  extra $3.00 

Half-morocco 5.00 

Half-calf 5.00 

Morocco 6.00 


The  Poetry  of  the  Age  of  Fable. 

By  Thomas  Bulfinch. 
illustrated. 

Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  in  one  volume. 

Muslin,  extra J2.00 

Half-calf 3.50 

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Shakspeare. 

Adapted  for  Reading  Classes  and  for  the  Family  Circle. 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    HAMMATT    BILLINGS. 
Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  in  one  volume. 

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Half-calf 5.00 

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Flowers  for  the  Parlor  and  Garden, 
by  edward  sprague  rand,  jr. 

"  The  book  itself  is  a  flower,  a  gem  of  typographical  beauty." 

Muslin,  extra $3.00 

Half-calf 5.00 

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The  Art  of  Confectionery; 

WITH 

Various  Methods  of  preserving  Fruits  and  Fruit  Juices  ;  the  Preparation  of  Jams 

and  Jellies.,  Fruit  and  other  Syrups,  and  Summer  Beverages  ;  and 

Directions  for  making  Dessert  Cakes.     A  Iso  Different 

Methods  of  making  Ice  Cream,  Slierbet,  &>c. 

These  receipts  are  from  the  best  New- York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston  Confectioners. 
Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  in  one  volume. 

Muslin,  extra $4.00 


Skeleton  Leaves  and  Phantom  Flowers. 
teaching  how  to  make  them. 

Printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  with  Illustrations. 

Muslin $2.00 

Half-calf 4.00 

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Wax  Flowers,  and  How  to  Make  Them. 

WITH 

New  Rules  for  Sheeting  Wax,  Moulding  Fruit,  6°<r. 

ELEGANTLY  ILLUSTRATED. 

Muslin,  extra $2.00 

Half-calf 4.00 

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Art    Recreations. 

A   COMPLETE  GUIDE  TO   ORNAMENTAL    WORK. 

"  It  tells  you  how  to  do  every  thing  in  the  way  of  Fancy  Work ;  how  to  prepare  the 
materials,  and  how  to  use  them  afterwards." 

"  It  is  impossible,  by  any  merely  verbal  description,  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  the 
mechanical  beauty  of  this  book,  or  of  its  value  as  a  household  companion  in  lessons  of 
Art."  —  New -York  Independent. 

Muslin,  extra $3.00 

Home    Pastimes; 

OR, 

RULES    FOR    PRODUCING  ONE  HUNDRED  TABLEAUX. 

With  directions  regarding  Scenery,  Dress,  &c. 

Muslin,  extra #2.00 

Fading    Flowers. 

A    BOOK  OF  CONSOLATION 

FOR  THOSE  WHO  HAVE  LOST  YOUNG  CHILDREN. 

Muslin,  extra $2.50 

Morocco 5.00 


Enoch   Arden. 

In  compliance  with  the  request  of  many  Artists,  and  Lovers  of  Art,  the  publishers  of 
the  Artist  Edition  of  Enoch  Arden  will  print  for  Subscribers 

ONE   HUNDRED   COPIES   ONLY, 

on  large,  heavy  paper,  made  expressly  for  the  purpose. 

This  is  the  edition  illustrated  by  Hammatt  Billings.  James  Jackson  Jarves,  Esq., 
in  his  "  Art  Idea,"  thus  speaks  of  him,  on  page  241,  in  contrast  with  others  :  — 

"  Hammatt  Billings  has  capacity  of  higher  order.  His  taste  is  refined,  talent  versa- 
tile, fancy  subtle,  and  imagination  inventive.  In  the  limited  scope  of  architecture 
allowed  here,  he  has  given  evidence  of  a  latent  genius,  which,  in  any  other  country, 
would  be  stimulated  and  developed  to  its  fullest  power.  Thus  far,  he  is  more  common- 
ly known  by  his  beautiful  illustrations  of  Keats,  Tennyson,  and  the  most  intellectually 
spiritual  of  the  Poets.  In  the  lyrical  grace,  variety,  and  delicate  beauty  of  his  compo- 
sitions, and  sympathetic  rendering  of  the  text,  he  has  no  superior  in  this  country.  His 
brain  is  a  rich  mine  of  esthetic  wealth.  He  does  not  so  much  translate  poetry  into 
pictorial  art  as  recast  it  in  exquisite  shapes  of  his  own  invention.  The  mere  over- 
flow of  his  mind  would  make  a  reputation  for  the  common  run  of  artists  and  architects." 

Subscriptions  received  by  the  publishers. 

Half-morocco $1500 

Turkey  antique 30.00 


LARGE  PAPER  EDITION. 

Sermons  Preached  in  Boston 

ON     THE 

DEATH    OF   ABRAHAM    LINCOLN. 

ONLY   TWO    HUNDRED    PRINTED. 

Muslin $6.00 

Half-morocco 10.00 

Morocco 18.00 


We  shall  have  ready  about  December  i,  a  Catalogue  of  all 
the  principal  Illustrated  and  Holiday  Books,  which  will  be 
furnished  at  our  store,  gratis,  or  sent  by  7nail,free,  on  receipt  of 
stamp  to  prepay  return  postage. 


Geo.  C.  Rand  &  Avery.  Printers. 


